


Carpe Posterum

by Matthew81



Series: Storm Heralds [7]
Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29886480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matthew81/pseuds/Matthew81
Summary: During a perilous mission the Storm Heralds fight valiantly alongside their kin but discover they must also battle to secure their Chapter's future. This story is a sequel to my previous story Omni Honore.
Series: Storm Heralds [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186892
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Storm Heralds Reading List

Book 1 Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum

Carpe Posterum Chapter 1

985.M41

Orbital space was filled burning wreckage and dying men, defence stations and system defence boats exploding in sequence as they futilely tried to hold back the invaders. They fought with bravery and determination, they fought with everything they had but it was to no avail, the odds against them were impossible to overcome. Ploughing through their ranks were the towering behemoths of Imperial warships, their weapon batteries and lances tearing through the paltry resistance with ease. Cruisers, escort frigates, battlecarriers and troop barges, each and every one an ancient and mighty giant of the void but none amongst them could match the titanic leviathan at their head: the legendary Thunderlord.

Stacked weapon batteries along the flanks of the Battlebarge roared and her engines shone like captured stars as she swept forwards. She was a rampaging force of destruction, wading into the rebel defences and obliterating everything in sight as she blasted open a corridor for the following Imperial fleet. A rebel defence monitor sallied forth in an attempt to break through the Thunderlord's shields but the battlebarge soaked up her opening salvo without taking a scratch and with a single volley swatted the offender like a bug.

Far below the battle a green world was turning yet its serene visage was marred by rising forests of mushroom clouds and the spreading clouds of a nuclear winter. These had been caused by the Battlebarge's Bombardment Canons raining down magma bombs across an entire continent, breaking open the ground defences for the first wave to land. Following hard on the tail of the opening bombardment came wave upon wave of drop pods, fighters and gunships. Stormhawk interceptors and Stormtalon attack craft flew ahead of Thunderhawks and Stormravens. They streamed from the Thunderlord's launch bays in an unstoppable tide, bringing the Space Marines to war. The gunships dodged and weaved around flaming debris and burnt out wrecks cluttering low orbit to become shooting stars as they hit the atmosphere and began decelerating.

Aboard the Thunderhawk 'Starfire' twenty seven Space Marines were strapped into their restraint cages, jostling and bouncing with force enough to shatter mortal bones, but this barely registered on their genhanced physiques. They were focussed and honed, ready for war and thirsty for action. Amongst the fiery howling of re-entry Sergeant Toran was looking around at the gathered squads, all of whom were from Ninth Company. He took their measure and evaluated each in turn. Alongside his own squad there was Sergeant Mikilas' squad who were armed with four heavy bolters and Sergeant Xanthur's squad who bore four missile launchers. Stalwart and worthy comrades in arms, redoubtable allies who had each faced more wars than Toran had years and were calmly meditating upon the coming conflict, as if on a pleasant jaunt not dropping straight into combat.

Satisfied Toran turned and looked at his own Squad checking their readiness. Brothers Furion, Jediah, Halis Paur and Daite were busy checking and rechecking their combi-meltas, Daite's augmetic arms moving smoothly as pistons as his metal hands worked the fuel lines. Besides them Brother Novak was polishing his rapier, completely disregarding all weapon safety protocols as the shining steel shimmered the in the ruddy light from the inferno outside. Persion seemed to be sleeping in his jostling cage as the antenna of his enhanced vox array snapped back and forth like a whip yet Toran knew that he was completely aware of all that transpired around him. These were his trusted squad-brothers, souls he had fought beside many times but there was a new face in the ranks.

Toran turned to the last cage and looked at his newest recruit, brother Bylan, standing apprehensively in his cage, looking uncomfortable in his newly issued mark VII plate. This was his first deployment as a full initiate and it showed in his repeated glances and restless fidgeting. Toran struggled to remember how it had felt to be so green but then his road to ascension had not been so fraught as Bylan's. Brother Bylan had once been rejected from the scouts, not for any failings on his part but because of tragic genic incompatibilities in his respiratory tract. He had been doomed to the life of a serf, until he had intervened to save Toran's life. The deed (and a pair of augmetic lungs) had seen him readmitted to the scouts, a feat unheard of in the history of the Storm Heralds. Many of the Masters had opposed such an act and Toran had been forced to personally plead for Bylan to be given a chance. The Sergeant had done nothing else to bias the youth's chances and the Marine had ascended entirely on merit. Unfortunately, from Toran's point of view, the experience had left Bylan with a bad case of hero worship.

The Sergeant yelled over the rattling of the fuselage, "Brother, have you completed all your checks?"

Bylan replied with the groaning wheeze of mechanical lungs and the harshness of a voice synthesiser, "+Yes Master, I stand prepared+"

Exasperated Toran sighed, "Bylan, I have told you I am your Sergeant now, you do not have to call me Master anymore."

"+It seems disrespectful+" replied Bylan bashfully from under his helm.

"Well you are one of us now," said Toran, "Act like it."

From further down the racks Novak called out, "If he is an equal then let us have a wager; my second favourite combat blade against your virgin bolt pistol says I kill more Heretics than you!"

Next to him Persion commented without opening his eyes, "Hardly fair, you have decades more experience than he does."

"Ah," replied Novak cheekily, "But to make it interesting I shall use only my rapier!"

"You only say that because you are such a terrible shot," laughed Persion, "I bet the Ork skull I claimed on Glaeba against that shiny sword of yours that bolter to bolter young Bylan can wipe the grin off your old face!"

"Old?!" gasped Novak in mock alarm.

Persion chuckled at the indignation and needled, "I hate to break it to you, but you are no longer the youngest face in the squad."

Novak turned to his squad mates and said, "Daite care to wade in, any visions about who will claim the greatest tally."

Daite sounded vexed as he snapped, "You know it doesn't work that that, I can't control when they come."

Novak laughed, "Good job too or you would own all our armour and we would be forced to go into battle naked!"

Bylan didn't seem to know how to cope with the banter of Marines he had worshipped from afar all his life so Toran explained, "Pay no mind to them, when combat hits you will see their brotherhood in action."

Brother Furion stated flatly, "They will fall into line when danger looms, else feel the back of my hand."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Ninth Captain Phalros, Commander of the Devastator Reserve Company, dropping into the troop bay from the cockpit. His artificer armour was gleaming with gold embellishments and his helm was crowned with a transverse crest. On one arm he bore the bulk of a power fist and at his belt was glorious master-crafted bolt pistol. He landed on the rattling floor without a hitch then straightened up and said sternly, "My ears must be deceiving me; I thought I heard my pious Space Marines engaged in the vices of ribaldry and gambling."

Toran answered him, "Just a little competitive rivalry Brother-Captain, to whet our appetite for battle."

Phalros chuckled and said, "Well that is acceptable; now give me your eyes."

Everybody in the Thunderhawk fixed their gaze upon him as he declared, "As you all know in 983.M41 the governor of Angle's Landing announced this world's secession from the Imperium and declared himself the new god of the populace. Governor Brendan the Mad has been declared a Heretic most foul and the Storm Heralds have claimed the honour of spearheading the Imperial assault. As is our right we shall be the first to set foot on this Heretic world and we shall break open the defences for the Imperial Guard to effect a landing."

He was interrupted by a sudden jolt from all around and a change in pitch as the gunship swept through the Stratopause into the thicker air below. The ruddy light outside the viewportals faded to a pale blue and the engines changed tone as they switched to atmospheric flight. Phalros steadied himself then activated a Hololith which displayed a large urban zone centred around a massive Fortress which doubled as the Governor's Palace. The Captain declared, "The Thunderlord has already reduced all major population centres to ash save the capital city and its adjoining spaceport, which are too well void shielded to bombard. Fourth Company has inserted via drop pod just outside the shield umbrella and will break open the defence perimeter then proceed to capture the spaceport. The supporting squads from Seventh and Ninth Companies will act as a mobile reserve, assisting the Battle Company and allowing them to secure the landing zones. Any questions?"

Brother Furion spoke up, "Are we to assume the entire civil population is tainted?"

Phalros replied sternly, "Scout ships and shifting of the planet's vox-net have found no evidence of a local resistance movement or Imperial hold-outs, the natives have embraced Heresy wholeheartedly. Our Chapter defends the innocents and the helpless but there are none to be found on this world, assume every soul you encounter is a Heretic. No mercy, no considerations for collateral damage."

"Understood," Furion stated, "They have turned from the Emperor's light and deserve no clemency."

Phalros nodded in confirmation then continued, "Whilst the Imperial Guard lands at the spaceport we will drive hard for the Palace. Captain Jossat has boasted that Fourth Company will have the Governor's head in their hands before the Guardsmen can even fire their first shot."

The gathered Space Marines were far too disciplined to gripe and moan but their sudden stiffness was their own way of protesting that yet again a Battle Company would take all the glory while they sat on the sidelines. Phalros was aware of their thoughts and said, "Worry not, the scouts report Brendan the Mad has spent the last two years building up his thug armies to an impressive size, including turning all local industry to the production of arms and fighting vehicles. Doubtless our skills will be sorely needed and there will be plenty of glory to go around this time."

The squads brightened up and Toran raised his voice to ask, "Captain are there any indications of the presence of Chaos on the planet?"

Phalros replied, "None detected, all signs point to this being just a pitiful civil rebellion."

Novak chipped in, "Well this should prove easy."

Brother Furion chided him, "Do not be reckless, the galaxy is littered with the graves of Astartes who though they were in for an easy victory."

Phalros concurred, "Listen to your wise Brother. I expect each of you to uphold the honour of Ninth Company, our mission is to support Fourth Company and help them achieve their objectives, remember we may be separate companies but we are one Chapter, one brotherhood."

He began the ceremonial litany of the Chapter's avowed creed, "We are mankind's contempt for the Xenos, the bane of Chaos and the heretic's lament. We are the thunder that rolls between the night and the dawn; we are the lightning that burns away the corrupt: we are the Emperor's Storm."

The assembled squads replied with the time honoured war cry of the Chapter, "We are His wrath!"


	2. 2

Carpe Posterum Chapter 2

The Thunderhawk plunged through the atmosphere, drawing ever closer to its goal. It glided past flaming debris falling from above and soared over mushroom clouds rising from the ashes of cities. Soon it approached the capital of the planet and there it paused, taking up a holding pattern as it waited for the call deploy its cargo. On board the squads of Ninth Company were waiting, their unique skills being held in reserve until they were needed most.

In his restraint cage Novak was impatiently tapping on the metal bars in a simple rhythm, finally he rolled his head back and in a bored tone uttered, "Do you think we will even get to see the objective this time?"

"Anything is possible," replied Persion, "We may even get to set foot inside the Heretic's Palace this time."

"Imagine that," mused Novak in a distant voice, "Imagine the glory of being the tip of the spear, the cutting edge of the Chapter's blade that ends this rebellion with one stroke."

Furion looked over and admonished, "Your zeal does you credit but take care lest you stray into vanity and pride, a Space Marine's first thought should always be of his duty."

Toran agreed with the sage council and added, "It does not matter who takes the heretic's head, once this is over be content in knowing that the deed is done and we played our part."

Novak bowed his head in response but didn't seem humbled at all. Toran sighed to himself and reflected that while his dashing brother may dream of winning glory in a battle company his often flippant and cavalier attitude made that impossible. It was a shame in a way, for Novak was one of the finest blades the Sergeant had ever seen, possibly even a contender for the rank of Company Champion and that skill had seen him elevated to initiate rank. Yet his lack of humility was most unbecoming and it prevented him ascending further in the ranks, in fact it was this very flaw that had seen him sent to IXth squad in the first place. Toran was snapped back to reality as the Thunderhawk was buffeted by turbulence and he heard Novak continuing, "Angle's Landing… who names a whole world Angle's Landing?"

Bylan spoke up earnestly, "+That would be the Rogue Trader Roderico Angle, who discovered this minor tributary of the Saint Karyl Trail and all the systems it led to. He found and named the world of Angle's Landing, as well as Angle's Glory and Angle's Rest. So great were his discoveries that he was made governor of his own homeworld, which he immediately renamed Angle's Redoubt.+"

Persion chipped in, "You forgot to mention Clom."

"Clom?!" snorted Halis from opposite him, "Who'd want Clom, a barren rock that can only be accessed once every ten years."

Novak however was staring at the new recruit and said, "Bylan... did you read the Administratum's entire briefing report end to end?"

Bylan sounded puzzled as he replied, "+Of course I did... were we not meant to?+"

That generated a laugh from the whole squad at the new brother's innocent question and Furion said gently, "Something you will learn is that the Administratum will not be content until it generates enough paperwork to choke the Eye of Terror. After this mission I will show you how to skim just the relevant details from their files."

Bylan was surprised and said, "+But are we not required to know every detail of the battlefield?+"

Daite chipped in, "If we read every word the Administratum sends us then there would be no time left for fighting."

The Marine's camaraderie was suddenly interrupted by a bang from outside the Thunderhawk and the entire gunship yawed to one side as a voice yelled from the cockpit, "Thunderbolt fighters on our tail!"

"Hold on" Captain Phalros shouted from the front hatch as he grabbed onto a support rail, "This is going to be rough!"

The world seemed to roll and massive G-forces suddenly crushed everybody back into their restraint cages as Starfire banked hard and took evasive action. The juddering, shaking noise of the engines filled the universe and the Space Marines could do nothing but grit their teeth as they held on to the bars of their support racks. Through the howling noise Brother Jediah broke his typical sullen silence to shout, "Karyl's hairy arse! Where are the Stormhawks, this air space was supposed to be secure. I will have someone's head for this!"

Nobody answered him though for they were all being thrown about in their cages, helms banging off the sides of the bars as they were shaken fiercely. Toran held on tightly and gritted his teeth in frustration. Like most Astartes he despised this part of warfare, being trapped helplessly inside a transport while others fought on his behalf. With his feet on the ground he could determine his own fate but now he was just useless cargo, utterly impotent to change anything. He heard the thudding of counter measures being released from the fuselage as the Thunderhawk violently wrenched about to come up in a new direction. Toran had no way of knowing if they had just avoided a missile or something else, he did not know if they were fighting one enemy or many, he could not even tell if were running or turning to engage.

He tuned in his vox to the pilot's frequency and listened to their yelling but understood little, without being able to see their points of reference he could not follow their jargon and all he could do was hold on and wait for victory or instant obliteration. Yet Persion cried out, "We lost one but the other Thunderbolt on our six."

"Persion," Furion snapped, "Get your nose out of the visual pict-feeds, that's officer only data."

"Do you want to know what's going on out there or not?!" Persion snapped, "He right on us and I don't think we can shake him."

Most on board gritted their teeth and awaited their fate but Toran heard someone from the other squads intoning the litanies of fortitude and patience. He saw Bylan gripping fiercely to the bars of his restraint cage and realised that the novice had only ever done this in training before now, his deployments in the Tenth-Company had certainly been more stealthy than this. Toran reached over and banged on the side of the cage and roared, "Hold steady brother, you're not a real Space Marine until you have done least one gut wrenching landing."

Bylan tried to nod and held on grimly as the Thunderhawk suddenly dived. Gravity became meaningless for three whole seconds and Toran felt the strange sensation of his genhanced body weighing nothing. Then suddenly Starfire bucked wild as it twisted its nose upwards and rolled hard over. The universe span around Toran's head then suddenly there was the distinct noise of Lascannons firing from the wingtips and a bright flash reflected down from the cockpit.

Persion yelled aloud, "We got him!"

Furion growled, "Good riddance, and we will discuss your penance for breaking Chapter protocols at a later date."

A moment later the Thunderhawk levelled off, flying straight and level as Toran's guts settled. Captain Phalros had been standing unmoved by the front hatch the entire time and he was now barking orders, "Fourth Company have entered the Spaceport, resistance is light but orbital scans reveal an armoured column moving up from the city. We must intercept that counterattack, lest they stab our Brothers in the flank."

Starfire suddenly tilted and the Marines floated in free fall as the gunship dove for the ground and Phalros shouted, "Prepare to deploy!" Immediately the Astartes mag-locked their boots to the deck as their restraint cages rose up over their heads. Heavy weapons were clasped tightly to the chests of many and the rest double-checked their bolters. Seemingly oblivious to the bucking of the fuselage and the tilting gravity three squads formed up in perfect alignment around the front and side hatches.

Without warning the Thunderhawk pulled up and braked hard, in a manoeuvre that would have snapped any standard imperial dropship in two. The Space Marines' knees flexed as the manoeuvre shook them but not one lost his footing as it levelled out and came to a slow hover. The hatches whined open revealing a dirty and dilapidated urban environment before them with no signs of hostiles anywhere. Phalros yelled, "Deploy!" and Sergeant Toran was the first out the hatch, charging forth into war.


	3. 3

Carpe Posterum Chapter3

In the city there was a roadway, sandwiched between deserted buildings, long and broad enough for two cargo-8s to pass unmolested. To the casual observer it was abandoned and derelict, the inhabitants long since fled or dragged off to labour camps, but this assumption could not have been more wrong. Concealed within the squat buildings were the Storm Heralds, alert and waiting for the enemy they knew would have to pass this way. They were expertly hidden, only a thorough building by building sweep would have revealed them, but that was something they had no intention of letting the enemy doing.

From a second story window Sergeant Toran looked across the street. The roadway was lined by lumen poles that cast wan light in the dim twilight caused by the Void shields high above. From the lumen poles hung the decaying corpses of men and women, those who had refused to bow down and worship the former governor and now self-proclaimed god: Bendan the Mad. Toran wasn't quite sure what to think of the architect of this planet's heresy. Most insurrectionists gleefully embraced the Dark Gods but there had been no signs of that here, just his thug armies and their slovenly brutality. He reflected the man must indeed be mad to think his paltry thugs could resist the might of Imperial retribution and that he would evade justice. The only reason he had lasted so long was that it had taken two years for Battlefleet Karyl to free up enough ships to muster a reprisal fleet.

The Sergeant peered down the roadway and checked the angles of fire. The Codex Astartes decreed that there were three types of ambush: single point, wide-area and anti-armour. Furthermore a successful ambush was comprised of many components: terrain, enemy composition, firepower and concealment and security. The roadway was the perfect place for an ambush, a linear route, boxed in by high-buildings and with no way for vehicles to leave save the ends of the road. The Astartes would have elevated positions to fire from and there would be no cover for fleeing Heretics to reach the buildings. Orbital scans had revealed the enemy was moving fast in covered vehicles, without infantry support, a grave error.

Toran could not see any of his fellow Storm Heralds but knew Xanthar's missile launchers were waiting at the far end to spring the ambush. Mikilas had spread his heavy bolters along the length of the roadway, spacing them out to ensure there would be no escape route. Captain Phalros was with them to better direct their fire and command the whole operation. The final element, security was being provided by a pair of Brothers on overwatch. One from Mikilas' squad and young Bylan, an important task for one so junior but one that would boost his confidence in his own skills. Thirty Space Marines against everything the rebels could summon, it was almost pitiful how outmatched the heretics were.

Toran dragged his thoughts back to the here and now as he heard the double-click of the vox from their lookouts, signalling the enemy was in sight. Moments later echoes reverberated down the street, the rumble of treads announcing the arrival of a long column of armoured vehicles. They crushed debris beneath their tracks and knocked over lumen posts with their bulk as they advanced down the roadway at combat speed. Toran felt his estimation of the foe drop considerably as he realised they were driving tanks through an urban environment without bothering to deploy a screen of infantry. If they were overconfident enough to think two years of oppressing civilians made them ready to face the Emperor's Finest then they deserved everything they got.

In the lead were a pair of Urdesh pattern AT70 'Reaver' tanks, their armour was relatively light and they were armed only with a heavy stubber and twin-linked turret mounted Autocanons. Behind them were a dozen open topped half-tracks, rumbling along with their passengers looking out at everything save the pertinent blind spots and concealing cover. Their sloppiness was evident in the casual way they held their lasrifles and the fact they were ducking to light Iho-sticks or removing their helms to mop sweaty brows.

They drove past Toran's position without pausing, pair after pair of half-tracks and AT70's rumbling along but then there came something much more dangerous: a Leman Russ tank. It was a giant amongst the scrappy local vehicles, armed with a hull mounted lascanon and a main battlecanon that made it by far the most pressing threat in the column and Toran knew it would instantly become the priority target. Behind it were more half-tracks and finally another pair of AT70's bringing up the rear, seventeen vehicles in all. An armoured assault intended to repel the invaders and retake the spaceport. The Storm Heralds however were not going to give them the chance.

Phalros' voice cut through the vox as he commanded, "Take out the leaders." The street ahead exploded into violence as four missiles shot out from the upper floors of the buildings and slammed into the leading pair of AT70's. Krak missiles speared down to impact the tanks on their lighter top armour. One was penetrated easily, brewing up in an explosion that killed the Heretics inside before they even knew they had been hit. The other had it right track blown out and veered sideways across the roadway, blocking it entirely with its bulk. The vehicles behind crashed into the flaming wrecks as the drivers failed to react in time and an instant roadblock was formed. The rebels stood up in their half-tracks and lost precious seconds as they tried to understand what was happening and in that moment Sergeant Toran cried, "Now!"

From both sides of the street windows shattered as IXth squad exploded out of hiding, landing on the ground effortlessly with their power armoured legs. They hit the Ferrocrete street running, bounding towards the rearmost AT70's which were panning their turrets around but the tanks were just too slow. In moments the Marines had closed within the reach of the deadly but short ranged Combi-Meltas and Furion, Jediah, Halis and Daite opening fire with hiss of igniting air molecules.

Four beams of sub-molecular fusion fire lanced into the engine blocks, plasteel armour liquefying like ice before a blowtorch as the beams punched deep. Splatters of metal sizzled on the ground as the beams ripped engines apart until finally they hit the fuel reserves. Two great explosions bloomed and a scalding heat wave rolled over all those close by but safe in their Ceramite armour IXth squad was untouched.

The rebels finally realised they were under attack and piled out of their vehicles firing wildly at anything they could see but they were caught in a Codex killbox and exposed for the killing blow. All along the length of the concourse giant figures appeared in the windows, firing down into the milling throng with their bolters. To their credit the Heretics didn't break, they hunkered down under their vehicles and spat lasfire in all direction but their position was poor and their weapons feeble when set against Ceramite armour. Bodies were blown apart by mass reactive rounds and dozens of rebels were executed in moments, then the heavy bolters came into play. From the rooftops four furious torrents rained down, tearing into the dying masses and obliterating dozens of men at a time. The rate of fire was stupendous and even from the far end of the street Toran could feel his teeth chattering from the vibrations of the fusillade as the foe fell like wheat before a scythe.

Meanwhile the Leman Russ turned its turret about to target a building but it had not time to react. From the start it had been the greatest threat and so drew the greatest weight of fire. A pair of missiles smote it from on high, blowing chunks out of its armour and rocking it back on its tracks. The tank steamed from the damage, stunned and shaken but not dead and its cannon was yet able to fire. It was then that Sergeant Xanthar appeared at a window and directed his Brothers to concentrate their fire. Four missiles stuck as one and this time the armour failed, fuel and munitions detonating in a terrific fireball that flipped the tank over on its top.

The heat of the fire drove the Heretics back into the waiting guns of IXth squad who mowed them down easily. The rebel convoy was boxed in on both sides, facing a foe whom they could not even hurt and had no mercy whatsoever. Finally the Heretic's courage broke and they ran, trying to find cover in shattered windows and doorways but the Astartes targeted these with Transhuman accuracy, gunning down running men in droves.

Toran saw all this happening as he emptied his bolt pistol at fleeing rebels and heard the added weight of another bolter join their barrage as Bylan rejoined them. Toran thought for a moment that the Storm Heralds had achieved a bloodless victory but the rebels had one trick left to play. At the head of the convoy the immobilised AT70 spun its turret around and elevated its autocannon before opening up with twin tongues of fire. Solid shells punched into crumbling brick work and blew out walls, tearing through flimsy floors beyond. Normally such a barrage would have little effect but these habs were abandoned and ill-maintained, taking violent reverberations from battle and now holed through. They could not hold and a pair of buildings crumbled, collapsing forward in a shower of bricks.

Facades simply disintegrated in a shower of bricks and the floors behind collapsed downwards to spill half a dozen armoured figures to the ground. They tumbled downwards and hit the road hard yet recovered quickly and rose from the rubble spilling ash from their joints. But before they could reform the tank's barrel's lowered and swept across their position. A shell impaled a brother right in the breastplate and instantly blew him apart in a fountain of blood and limbs. The pinned Astartes threw themselves into cover as missiles flew down to hit the tank but they only glanced off armour plates and the AT70 survived the volley. Trapped the fallen Space Marines fired their bolters from the piled debris but their rounds could not penetrate the tank's glacis plate and it stood completely invulnerable to their volley.

Sergeant Toran saw that all alone the tank could yet reap a fearful tally and it could not be suffered to live a moment longer. Apparently Captain Phalros agreed for he came on the vox and ordered, "IXth squad take out that tank now!"

"We must clear a path for the Meltas, follow me!" Toran cried as he began carving a route through the teeming heretics. He drew his shining power sword and laid about as its energy field carved foes in two. The rebels tried to fall back before him but were pressed forwards by the mass of men pushing from behind and with no other choice they drew bayonets and attacked. Crowds of screaming men mobbed forward and Toran felt like he was pressing against an incoming tide as he waded forwards. His power sword rose and fell relentlessly, each blow carving apart a foe. Besides him Novak was slashing and hacking with his rapier, his usual grace and élan rendered moot in this crush. He was reduced to chopping away like a butcher and his anger showed in the fury of his blows.

Persion however looked to be in his element, stabbing savagely with his combat-knife, to rip apart all who stood before him. Men grappled and hacked at him in response but his armour was sound and he drove forwards, leaving a trail of broken bodies in his wake. Bylan however was following too close on Toran's heels to be effective and the Sergeant had to yell, "Damnation, don't tag along like a lost pup, spread out and provide cover for your brothers!"

The youth moved to obey and stepped away to broaden their line. With four Space Marines thrusting forward the mobs parted like the sea before a boat and many men ran past to flee thus allowing them to approach the AT70. The tank was smoking and leaning badly to one side but it had survived multiple volleys of missiles and was yet firing. The tank commander had prudently elected to baton down his hatch in the turret instead of looking out and so had no idea IXth squad was stalking him.

Toran could see the turret barrel turning to sweep the entrenched Astartes again and he immediately stepped aside to allow the combi-meltas a clear shot. The special-weapon Brothers braced and from point blank range fired as one, four beams punching through the tank's rear armour in less than one second to plunge deeply within and find the ammunition stack. The AT70 was actually lifted into the air by the force of the explosion, flipping over to land on its turret and crush a dozen rebels in a pile of jagged metal. The force of the blast swept over IXth squad, battering them with flame and wind, strong enough to actual compel Toran to take a step back, but setting fire to anyone else in range.

The sight of the devastation snapped the little courage the thug soldiers had left and they turned to run back the way they had come, chased all the way by bolter rounds and scores more of them were shot in the back as they ran. Ten men made it twenty metres, five made it to twenty-two and only one managed to get twenty-three before a bolt round struck him in the back and ended the battle. The field belonged to the Storm Heralds and Toran saw they had culled the Heretics to the last man. Space Marines emerged from various positions to check the dead but there was little need, no foe drew breath this day.

Bylan looked over the flaming wreckage and piled bodies and said, "+Is it over?+"

Toran flared the energy field on his sword to cleanse the weak blood then sheathed it as he said, "Yes this fight is over. Behold your first victory as a line-Brother, savour this moment, few things will ever again taste as sweet."


	4. 4

Carpe Posterum Chapter 4

The spaceport burned as he advanced into the Heretic's defences. Smoke and ash filling the air as bodies piled up on sandbagged defences. Flames licked around support buildings and darkened the vast pillars of the landing pad's structure as devastation spread rapidly. The sound of bolt rounds cut across the ear, followed moments later by the bangs of detonations that heralded another death. There were few screams afterwards, mass reactive caused catastrophic damage to the body, leaving barely enough flesh behind to be recognisable as human remains. Already the rebels were breaking which pleased him, but not by much.

Through the smoke strode an Astartes in magnificent plate. His armour was festooned with deed-scrolls and the gilt edging of notable victories. Kill-tallies adorned his arms and his helm was pure white, a laurel granted for triumphs over impossible odds. In his hands was a double-headed axe, etched with scenes of righteous slaughter and dripping with Heretic blood. Everything about this warrior proclaimed his zeal for war, his hunger for victory, from the heraldic emblems he wore to the swagger in his step. He was Jossat, Captain of the Fourth and he was determined to finish this battle as quickly as possible.

As he strode Jossat voxed, "IInd squad, cover IVth's advance, they must reach that junction before the Heretics retreat. I want them slaughtered as they run. Xth squad, put missiles into that pillbox. VIIth take to the skies and shatter their line. Make haste Brothers, the Divine Emperor's eyes are upon us!" As the Fourth took the battle to the heart of the Heretic's resistant Jossat had a moment to assess the wider situation. His Battle Company had torn through the defences with ease, laying low the enemy without loss. The supporting forces from the Reserves were denying enemy reinforcements and the fleet above was laying waste to the other cities. Victory was almost in his hands, which was good of course, but also disappointing.

Jossat had been promised a chance for glory, to command a multi-company expedition was a great honour and a chance to advance in prestige among the Masters. The Chapter's Captains all competed for glory, their rivalry driving them on to greater feats of zealotry but this expedition was supposed to be special. High Chaplain Samect himself had impressed upon Jossat the need for a stunning triumph, to demonstrate the Divine Emperor's favour to the Brothers and humiliate those Storm Heralds who clung to outdated secularism. Jossat had thirsted for a brilliant conquest against impossible odds, but these Heretics were proving poor fodder so far. He only hoped the rebel Governor had better opposition to offer than these dregs.

From ahead Jossat heard the chugging of an Autocannon and saw a team of Heretics frantically firing into the smoke. He instantly shrugged off his musings and leapt into action. Three steps took him to the emplacement and he vaulted the sandbags in a moment. The rebels turned in surprise, their faces forming into comical gasps. Before they could even draw their weapons he was upon them. One sweep of his axe decapitated the first man, the follow on cleaving the next in twain across the chest. The corpse fell in two gory halves and Jossat turned on the gunner, driving the haft of his axe into the face. Flesh and bone folded up around the length of the weapon, driven as it was by Transhuman muscle. With one lunge Jossat drove the rebel's face into the back of the skull and let the corpse toppled over as he hissed, "Disappointing."

There was a heavy crump nearby and Jossat spun about, only to relax as he saw five looming forms emerging through the smoke. Broad and heavy beyond regular power armour, armed with crackling fists and dual-barrelled Storm Bolters. Terminators, the First Company elite, the best of the best had honoured this expedition with their presence and Jossat was pleased to know First Captain Athead smiled upon his efforts.

At their head strode a warrior with a widebladed powersword, Sergeant Starn who called, "Repeat that."

Jossat gestured at the piled bodies around his feet as he lamented, "I find this foe lacking in challenge, they are poor quality and lacking in ferocity."

Starn came to a halt as he growled, "They are mortals, what else did you expect?"

Jossat sighed, "A warrior is measured by the quality of his enemies and these are pathetic. This war will not be sung of on the Holy Days. Where is the glory in this fight?"

"The glory is in the winning," Starn intoned, "Take satisfaction in defeating your move and look to the next war."

Jossat grinned under his helm, "Direct and brutal as always Starn, doing whatever what it takes to win without a fuss. That's why I like you."

Starn brushed off the compliment as he said, "The spaceport will be secured in the hour."

"The half-hour," Jossat said, "Then we regroup and drive to the Palace!"

Suddenly another voice cut through the din of battle, "That is a mistake!"

"Nimodes," Jossat hissed, "Is it too much to ask you keep your nose out of this!"

Through the smoke came a warrior in light scout-plate. He wore the armour of a Novice but his face was grizzled and he boasted thick sideburns. His boots were scuffed and his leggings blood bloodstains but none of it was his. This was Veteran-Sergeant Nimodes, the Hero of Cosos Ridge, leader of the scout contingent and a perennial pain in Jossat's arse.

Nimodes stepped forward and shrugged a stalker-pattern bolter upright as he said, "We need to hold this position and allow the Imperial Guard to land."

Jossat gritted his teeth as he snapped, "I am in command, not you."

Nimodes didn't seem abashed as he replied, "It is Codex doctrine, a thrust through urban environments requires precise coordination and a serious advantage in numbers."

"I know the Codex," Jossat retorted, "It also speaks of swiftness and surety as being worth a thousand lasrifles. We will hit the rebels hard before they can regroup and drive on to the Palace!"

"Without reinforcements?" Starn interjected.

"They are only mortals," Jossat scoffed, "They couldn't keep up with Space Marines even if we acted the sluggard."

"With all due respect," Nimodes hissed in a tone that conveyed his lack of respect, "Let me position scouts ahead, to reconnoitre the route and search for traps."

"No," Jossat stated, "I intend to drive on the palace while the Guard are still unloading. Heavy armour is dropping from orbit with Dreadnought support. The second they are ready I will assault the Governor's palace and claim Bendan's head. I want this war over in a day!"

"That…" Nimodes growled warily, "Is a risky strategy."

"Nothing in war is won without risk," Jossat proclaimed, "Now stop wasting time and finish securing this spaceport. I want our armour on the ground now!"

The pair turned and strode away, leaving Jossat alone. He looked down and kicked a body, cursing the second-guessing of Nimodes. It was hardly like this foe offered any true resistance, the Fourth would break them with ease. Perhaps there was glory in that, he pondered, if the fight itself would not bring laurels then maybe speed of victory would. A war finished in a day, that would serve to elevate Jossat above the other Captains. Yes, speed was the key, Jossat would end this war and all would whisper his name with awe. Jossat was about to show everybody how war was supposed to be fought.


	5. 5

Carpe Posterum Chapter 5

The spaceport was a bustle of activity as massive drop ships lowered themselves from orbit onto the elevated towers of the landing pads. Buzzing anti-grav engines created swirling winds that whipped everything to and fro while men ran back and forth busy with industrious toil. From the drop ships marched endless formations of Guardsmen followed by Leman Russ tanks, Chimeras, Hydra batteries and Basilisks. They proceeded down freshly painted lines, marked out by Munitorum functionaries, towards assembly yards and parade grounds where they would await their orders. It was not just fighting men unloading from the drop ships though, Trojan vehicles dragged massive pallets of supplies, munitions and prefabricated building components: everything the Imperial Guard would need for a long occupation. The lines of men seemed never ending and as was typical for the Imperial Guard there were the usual traffic jams, confused orders and lost supplies going all over the place.

As the Guard continued its inexorable preparations a similar but more elegant effort was taking place, just outside the perimeter of the Spaceport Thunderhawk Transporters were bringing down the Storm Herald's heavier equipment. Dreadnoughts, Vindicators and Rhinos and even preassembled armouries, barracks and a moveable Chapel were being dropped into place and unpacked by Servitor drones. The process was fast and streamlined, with all the efficiency and diligence one would expect from the bloodline of Roboute Guilliman.

As the armour mustered a strategy meeting was taking place. Standing by the open ramp of a Damocles command Rhino the senior commanders of the Astartes' taskforce force were being briefed. Toran was standing with Captain Phalros who had ordered him to attend as his equerry, he had said it would be good for the Sergeant's education but had made it clear that Toran did not have rank enough to actually say anything. Phalros' helm was doffed to reveal his patrician, almost statesmanlike, features and he looked glorious in his magnificent artificer armour. Yet the Ninth captain was not in command of the Storm Herald taskforce: that honour fell to Fourth Captain Jossat.

Toran judged the battle captain to be an aggressive and heavily scarred warrior, who was filled with a vital energy and drive that made it seem like he always wanted to be charging into war. There was much to admire about such a marine yet Toran found himself being put on edge by the Captain. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a fervent Emperor worshipper or maybe it was the way he was talking like he had won the initial battles single-handed. Jossat was reviewing the action so far and taking all the credit, skimming over the efforts of his own Marines and certainly not mentioning the contribution of Ninth Company.

Standing next to him was Sergeant Molin who was speaking for the squads of Seventh Company. Toran was trying not to think ill of the other Sergeant but was finding his tendency to agree with every word Jossat said to be somewhat sycophantic. Secrectly Toran suspected that Molin sought advancement to a Battle Company by toadying up to a superior. An unworthy thought to be held about any Brother but one Toran couldn't shake off.

Next to Molin was Scout-Sergeant Nimodes who was master of the taskforces' scout elements. He was a grizzled veteran, with more experience than anyone else present. His hard won wisdom was indeed sound, but the downside of that was that he tended to treat everybody else as an unblooded aspirant. Toran had never met him before but his name was legendary, nobody in the Chapter had not heard of the Hero of Cosos Ridge and the Marine who had ended a war with a single-shot. That he was not in the First Company was a mystery, he had certainly earned the honour but seemed more than content to stay in the Tenth and train scout-novices.

The final member of the assembly was Sergeant Starn of First Company, leader of the taskforce's sole Terminator squad. He towered over everybody in the awe inspiring bulk of his Tactical dreadnought armour, his face barely visible over the high gorget. His scarred visage proclaimed centuries of service and the long litany of his victories was woven onto a banner flying above his shoulders. Starn was a lion of the Chapter, who had survived countless suicide missions through sheer stubborn refusal to die. Many called him pedantic, unimaginative and inflexible which he took as high praise.

Toran's attention was snapped back as Jossat proclaimed, "The spaceport is secure and Guard are deploying their forces but we will not wait for the plodding grunts to get into line. We will strike through the rebel's positions, hard and fast, in an armoured assault and drive straight for the Governor's Palace."

Sergeant Nimodes spoke up then, "I still say the scouts must infiltrate ahead and reconnoitre your route for potential ambushes."

Jossat overrode him sharply, "I told you, there will be no need for scouts. We will just drive our armoured vehicles right through the heart of the foe and be in the Palace before they can even think to resist."

That declaration sent concern racing around the circle and Sergeant Starn spoke in a gritty rasp, "The Codex Astartes posits armour cannot advance through an urban environment without an infantry screen."

But Sergeant Molin spoke up, "There will be infantry support, as soon as we break their front line Seventh Company squads will race ahead and sweep the road clear."

The conversation was interrupted as a pair of Stormtalons roared overhead, dashing off under the Void shield umbrella to attack vital targets in the city. They paused until the noise faded to an audible level then Phalros interjected "You only have four squads, such an action will over stretch you and leave you exposed."

Yet Molin sounded unconcerned as he uttered, "Ninth can hang back and cool their heels if they so wish, but we will do it. Heroes of the Seventh, eager for war and hard to kill."

Phalros scowled as he rebuked, "Brother-Sergeant, is that how you address a Captain?"

Molin's face fell as he realised he had overstepped his authority and he bowed his head as he said, "I have no excuse for my disrespect, I offer penance."

Phalros decided to be magnanimous, "No offence was taken, your confidence in your men is inspiring, yet I must reiterate that this whole action may leave us perilously over extended."

"I will not suffer any more of this backtalk," snapped Captain Jossat scowling at the criticism, "With the squads from Seventh company screening our advance we will reach the Palace gate, then our Vindicators will break open the Fortress. Starn, I want your Terminators to be the tip of the spear, Fourth Company will follow you in and crush all resistance within the Palace. Dreadnoughts will be held in reserve to deploy where needed most while the squads from Ninth Company will act as the rear-guard against counter attacks."

Sergeant Starn grimly said, "The Codex Astartes estimates that this course of action with our present forces could produce up to forty percent casualty rates."

"Acceptable losses," replied Jossat dismissively, "We are Astartes and we shall know no fear."

Everybody nodded their head in acceptance of this, all save Nimodes who crossed his arms and said, "There is no need for us to rush, this plan could see us advancing straight into an ambush. The Imperial Guard are the hammer of the Emperor, united our might would be unstoppable. It would cost us nothing but time."

Captain Jossat now was looking furious and said "I will not let some lowly Imperial Guard general steal my glory! We will attack the second the vehicles finish unloading. I have sworn that I will have the heretic governor's head in my hand this very day. Now you are all dismissed."

With their orders given the Space Marines saluted and turned to walk away, each signalling preparations ahead as they marched. Torna followed his Captain's steps, dodging around munition trucks and pausing to let a Predator tank rumble by. They took it all in and found it to be a picture of efficient productivity. Captain Phalros however seemed most unsettled and said, "This is going to cost us."

Toran looked at his captain and said, "The Codex Astartes calls for us to strike hard and fast but this is just rushing. Why is Jossat being so sloppy?

Phalros snapped, "CAPTAIN Jossat is in command here and we will obey his orders. A Battle Captain needs to be aggressive and determined, a desire to triumph against the odds is practically a prerequisite."

Toran wasn't convinced and commented, "Even so it seems there is more going on here than a simple thirst for glory, there is some agenda at work here."

Phalros' face was a picture of discomfort and he did not look at Toran as he confessed, "Discontent with Chapter Master Gorgall's policies is becoming more and more vocal, matters are coming to a head and his critics are not even bothering to guard their words anymore. High Chaplain Samect has frequently argued against fighting alongside conventional Imperial forces, he thinks we should be standing above them, not shoulder to shoulder in the mud. To complete this war swiftly and completely on our own would undermine Gorgall and elevate Captain Jossat's position amongst the Master's councils."

"Politics!" spatToran in disgust, "Astartes should be above such petty concerns."

Phalros drew in long breath and said "Human nature permeates all that we are and we cannot afford to ignore that fact. Treat this like you would any other battle: know your foe, gather your allies and hit them where they are weakest."

Toran eyed his Captain suspiciously and said "What are you suggesting?"

Phalros replied evenly, "Nothing untoward, merely that we focus on the correct execution of our duties. We must show the dissenters the proper way to prosecute a war and that we are strongest when we stand with our allies."

Toran nodded in agreement as they approached Ninth Company's mustering ground. Phalros and the Sergeant parted ways, each going to prepare their forces for the coming assault. Toran soon found IXth squad outside an armoury, restocking their weapons and repairing gouges in their armour plate with quick-drying cement paste.

They saw Toran stomping up and Persion called, "What are our orders Sergeant?"

Toran answered, "We are joining a full armoured assault on the Palace."

There was a brief exchange of amused glances around the squad and Toran cocked his head questioningly at Persion who said with a hint of mirth, "While you've been gone Jediah has been telling everybody this would be another sewer run… he's been quite insistent on the matter."

Jediah resolutely fixed his gaze on the bolter he was studiously cleaning and did not say a word but Persion teased, "Did you miss the stench of effluent Brother?!"

Jediah's head didn't turn as he muttered, "Face or chest?"

"What?" Persion replied in confusion.

"Where do you want me to carve you a new scar?" Jediah retorted, "Nobody speaks to me in such a tone."

Persion shook his head and protested, "Novak does, every sodding day!"

"Novak's kill tally surpasses yours and he's a quarter your age," Jediah replied, "Sword in hand he can beat any of us, even me. You can't, so watch your tongue or you'll lose it."

"That's enough," Toran snapped, "Save it for the enemy. Fourth and Seventh Company are to hit the enemy hard, Ninth gets to form a rear-guard with the artillery."

That elicited a groan from Novak who uttered, "We are to babysit Vindicators while the battle company gets all the glory?"

"Reserve Companies get all the crap assignments," Halis Paur dourly muttered.

"Those are our orders," retorted Toran briskly, "Now get in a Rhino, we are moving out."


	6. 6

Carpe Posterum Chapter 6

The inside of the Rhino was a jostling rattle of noise and motion, the tracked vehicle grinding along the main thoroughfare at nearly top speed. Inside the Space Marines gripped their weapons tightly and waited for war. The top hatch was open so Persion and Novak could sweep for threats with their bolters yet they had seen none. In fact the entire operation was going surprisingly smoothly, the armoured spearhead of Rhinos, Predators and Vindicators had punched through the rebel's outer perimeter with ease and raced unopposed into the city. Sergeant Toran was lost in thought, mulling over the situation and thinking about the wider implications. Perhaps Captain Jossat had been right after all, which boded ill for the future of the Chapter's leaders.

From across the troop bay Daite looked over and enquired, "Is something wrong sergeant?"

Toran rubbed his chin and muttered, "This is going too well."

Bylan sounded confused and said, "+How can something be going too well?+"

Halis was checking the action of his bolter yet spoke up, "If everything is going right you're probably walking into a trap."

Bylan scoffed, "+I do not recall that passage from the Codex Astartes+"

Halis replied, "Codex Vol II, Chapter IV verse XCV: 'Hold out bait to entice the enemy, feign disorder and crush him.'"

Worriedly Bylan said, "+You think this is a trap, you think we are being deceived?+"

Daite snorted, "Halis thinks everything is a deception, he has a mind like a corkscrew."

Any further conversation was interrupted by Persion yelling, "Gate's in sight!"

Toran slammed his helm on and drew his weapons barking, "Form up and deploy!"

The Rhino screeched to a halt and IXth squad piled out. Before them rose the towering Adamantium gate that blocked their path into Brendan's Fortress. It was flanked on both sides by two Ferrocrete donjons from which protruded a forest of mortars, heavy bolters and Lascanons. Between the Space Marines and the gate was a mountain of rubble, former buildings and tenements that had been demolished to create a killing ground, scattered with tank traps and deadfalls. Four whole city blocks had been levelled, then filled with thousands of rebels who were dug in and well-armed. The squad grimaced at the sight and Halis muttered, "I think I have just figured out where all the rebels went."

From their position they could see that Fourth Company was already engaged, fighting hard as they advanced into the teeth of enemy fire. They met the foe head to head even as the donjons rained down destruction. Even as Toran watched he saw Tactical squads leapfrogging each other, racing forwards to clear foxholes then providing suppressing fire for their brothers to push past. A constant hail of shells and lasfire fell upon them from the enemy lines and the donjons but the Space Marines trusted their armour to hold true and pressed on with the attack. Still so thick was the incoming fire that they were leaving a trail of blue armoured bodies behind as they slowly smashed their way through the teeming enemy.

Toran could see Captain Jossat at the tip of the spear, leading his Marines by example in the furious assault. Despite his personal misgivings Toran was amazed by the Captain's courage, charging into the teeth of enemy fire without heed of danger. His axe swung repeatedly, hewing Heretics with every stroke in a beautiful dance of motion and deadly skill. There could be no doubt that Jossat was a consummate fighter, better than Toran, perhaps even better than Novak. He waded into the fight with furious zeal and no foe seemed able to touch him. Even as they watched a Lascannon blast caught him in the chest but it was deflected by the shimmering aura of his Iron Halo and he was left unharmed. The battlefield was a furious medley of noise, violence and death with random explosions everywhere and the screams of dying mortals or Transhumans creating a hideous undercurrent. This was siege warfare, the most brutal and unforgiving form of battle where insanity and cruelty infected all: exactly the kind of fight in which Space Marines excelled.

Toran was shaken out of his reverie as Captain Phalros's voice came over the vox ordering, "Mikilas get those Heavy bolters into an elevated position, Xanthur load frag missiles and rain down hell. Toran stick close to the Vindicators as they advance, keep them intact at all costs." Swiftly the squads got into position and joined the battle, IXth squad taking point in front of the three grinding Vindicators as they followed Fourth Company's advance while a pair of Predators hunkered down and let fly with their weapons. The devastators and Predators brought down a torrent of firepower upon the rebel's positions, blasting away entrenched heavy weapons and knots of milling enemies.

The enemy lines had been shattered by the assault but still random soldiers dashed towards the tanks. IXth squad picked them off one by one letting nothing threaten the tanks. Then there was a sudden rush of movement on the left and Toran saw hundreds of fresh rebels charging out of cover to outflank the assault. Only a single Tactical squad stood in their way, firing their bolters in tight bursts to kill scores of rebels, but the numbers were too great and it was inevitable that they would be overrun. Captain Phalros called over the vox "Toran divert left and provide assistance." Instantly Toran complied and IXth squad responded, breaking left and racing to their beleaguered brothers. As they ran they picked off closing targets one by one with bolters, saving the precious fuel of their combi-meltas for worthier targets.

Toran ran to the squad leader and realised that it was Molin who was in trouble, the other Sergeant saw him coming and snarled, "Get back, we can handle this!"

Toran raised his bolt pistol and fired a burst that cut a rebel in half as he yelled, "Is this really the time to argue?!"

Molin snarled but did not protest further as the wave of rebels poured over the rubble, screaming in fury as they raced forward. Toran instantly saw that there were too many to pick off individually as they had been doing: more extreme measures were required. Desperately Toran shouted, "Parade formation!" and instantly the two squads formed up in a straight line. It took four precious seconds for the Marines to get in position, as the wave of rebels dashed ever nearer, but then they were ready. As the Heretics closed within spitting distance Toran raised his bolt pistol and shouted, "Overwatch: Rapid Fire!"

As one bolters erupted, throwing out a wave of destruction. The fusillade hit the charging rebels like threshing machine, cutting them down in droves and the front rank of men simply disintegrated. Bodies exploded under the force of the barrage to cover the next rank in gore as the Space Marines relentlessly poured on fire, killing wave after wave of foes as they emptied their bolters. The carnage was unimaginable and the number of dead could not be guessed. So great was the bloodshed that the following rebels faltered, unable to believe the horror before their eyes. Yet as the Marines paused to reload a rebel officer waved a notched sabre and began yelling at the men around him to press forwards.

Toran saw the officer rallying the foe and he raised his bolt pistol but before he could pull the trigger the man's forehead crumpled as a single bolt round went straight through it. Toran glanced around looking for whoever had fired the shot but he could not see any scouts anywhere, yet he was certain he knew who had taken out the leader. A dozen more rebels fell as sniper rounds punched into them and Toran realised, though he might not be able to see Sergeant Nimodes, it was apparent the veteran was making his Scout-novices most useful.

Facing an unbeatable foe and beset by invisible killers the rebel's courage broke. They turned their backs and ran but were mowed down by the vengeful Space Marines and not one escaped. Toran turned to Molin and said "Well done Brother-Sergeant, you held the line." The Sergeant nodded wearily, clearly more distressed by the close fight than he cared to admit. Perhaps he would have offered a thanks but then the voxed squawked and his squad dashed away to the next crisis point.

Toran took a moment to sigh and looked to see how his squad could get back into the battle, but realised that events had moved on without him. At the very tip of the spear Captain Jossat had finally led his Company right up to the gates themselves and there had fallen upon the entrenched defenders with steel and fury. A furious barrage from the Tactical squads killed dozens and made the survivors duck their heads, then with perfect timing the assault squads rose high on plumes of fire and plummeted down again. The impact of their landing throwing cowering men face first into the mud as the assault marines laid about with their vicious chainswords.

In a frenzy of bloodletting a hole was torn in the rebel's lines and through that gap the three Vindicator tanks finally rolled into range. Juggernaut, Stonebreaker and Relentless, three nobles steeds each with valorous histories. Fire rained down upon them from on high but it merely glanced off their dozer blades and left them undamaged. The tanks ground into position then paused as they elevated the stubby barrels of their Demolisher canons. The battle seemed to pause for an instant, then they fired. Three squat shells erupted from the Vindicators and slammed into the donjons, sending massive shockwaves through their structures. Rock and dust were sent flying and long cracks raced across both their facades but they were not broken.

A return salvo of heavy fire hit the tanks and ripped into their armour, breaking plates and gouging them deeply. Inexorably the Vindicators reloaded and then fired again. The shells ruptured the front of the donjons and gouged massive craters in their bulwarks. Yet now the rebels had learned from their mistakes and this time the donjons concentrated all their fire upon one tank, the noble Juggernaut. A massive explosion ripped the Vindicator apart and blew a cloud of black smoke into the air, a terrible loss for the Chapter, but it was just too late to change the outcome of the battle.

The remaining pair of Vindicators fired one last time and finally they penetrated the outer layer to burrow deeply within. The shells detonated inside the structures and blew apart their internal supports. The buildings collapsed like a concertina as upper floors fell down onto those beneath and those below them, smashing them apart in a chain reaction. From outside the donjons seemed to just crumble, spilling detritus, weapons and flailing bodies to the ground. Rebels screaming briefly before they slammed into the dirt with bone-shattering force before being buried in a diffuse cloud of brickdust that choked Heretics fighting on the ground and coated Ceramite armour in ash. With the donjons gone the great Adamantium gate teetered comically then slowly it fell forwards like a toppled tree. It slammed into the dirt creating a vast cloud of choking grit that clogged respirators and blinded eye lenses. Watching from afar Toran's hearts soared, he had done it, Jossat's strategy had worked after all, the way was open to rip out the heart of this rebellion.

The Space Marines cheered even as they wiped their eye-lenses clear and Captain Jossat cried, "Charge!" The Astartes leapt forwards, racing over the ash drenched rubble to enter the breech but were brought up short, for something was emerging from behind the devastation: something massive. A shadow three times the height of a Space Marine, yet far wider than that, was coming through the smoke. It rumbled forwards on tracks the width of a street cab as it pulverised stone to powder with its awesome weight. It had sponsons festooned with lascannons and heavy bolters but that was the least of its armaments. On its front hull was a short canon wide enough to fit a grown man and from its wide turret protruded a huge canon that dwarfed any conventional weapon.

It was an ancient monster of war, a silhouette instantly recognisable to every soldier in the galaxy and one that promised inevitable death. The Storm Heralds stood aghast and so Sergeant Toran was the first to yell, "Baneblade!"


	7. 7

Carpe Posterum Chapter 7

Through the broken remains of the gateway came the awesome bulk of the Baneblade, crushing bodies to paste as its massive tracks rolled over them. It was a legend made real, a power that had turned the course of countless war and bearing weapons that had broken whole armies. Across the Imperium such machines were held to be heroes in their own right, tales of their valour as dear to men as the sagas of ancient champions. Baneblades were unstoppable, unbeatable and invincible, all men knew this to be true.

It was not alone either, from behind it poured rivers of fresh rebel troops, all eager for the fray and confident of victory with the behemoth looming over them. Facing overwhelming numbers of fresh foes, backed by an unstoppable Super Heavy war machine capable of wiping them all out, the Storm Heralds reacted the only way Astartes knew how: they attacked. The Space Marines threw themselves into the fray, hacking and blasting away at a wall of enemies. They could not hope to win but knowing the cost of their deaths would be high. In the heart of the melee Jossat swung his axe in wide sweeps, cleaving men like logs. His resistance was magnificent and he led his Marines from the front, making as valiant a stand as any in the Chapter's annals. Everywhere transhuman giants smashed and crushed mortal men in a frenzy of bloodletting but the ocean of enemies was overwhelming and they were drowning in foes.

While this was occurring the remaining Vindicators were spinning on their tracks to bring their Demolisher canons to bear on the Baneblade. They hurriedly lowered their stocky barrels and fired at point blank range, hurling two fortress shattering shells into the behemoth's front plate. The impacts sent fire racing over the bow of the war machine and created a backdraft shockwave that sent grappling warriors flying, even those in heavy power armour. The Baneblade barely seemed to notice the blows, rolling forwards like an avalanche to crush all before it heedless of their allegiances.

The massive turret inched round and the absurdly long barrel depressed to target the nearest Vindicator, Stonebreaker. With a roar that ruptured eardrums of anyone nearby the Baneblade's canon spoke and a single shell slammed into the defiant tank. The front dozer blade shattered from the force of the impact and Stonebreaker was physically hurled backwards on its tracks, carving deep furrows into the ground below. It fell still and silent with a massive smoking hole drilled right through it from front to back but the Baneblade was not done yet.

Sponson Lascanons swivelled round and unleashed a barrage at the other Vindicator, Relentless, riddling it with fire. The tank took the salvo upon its front armour and the crew survived behind the thick plate but the Demolisher canon was reduced to a molten mess and rendered useless. Effectively weaponless the Vindicator had no choice but to retreat, driving backwards through the milling enemy as it fell back. It was shameful retreat but there was no other option, they had nothing more to offer in this fight but this day would burn long in the driver's memories, a humiliation not to be forgotten.

While all this had been occurring IXth squad had been advancing up the left flank, keeping the foe penned in with bolter fire. From here they could see the battle was turning against the Space Marines, the vast tide of rebels slowly surrounding them with overwhelming numbers. Toran didn't know how he could change the outcome save that if they could just take down the Baneblade the Astartes might have a chance, but then he saw something that made his heart leap.

Charging at full speed through the ranks of rebels was a gloriously embossed Land Raider Crusader, the valorous Fist of Righteousness, its hurricane bolters and assault canons unleashing devastation all around. It crashed into the very heart of the enemy force and ground to a halt as its front ramp slammed down, then from within emerged five monstrous brutes in the thickest armour imaginable. With a cry of vengeance on his lips Sergeant Starn led his Terminators to war with his power sword sparking and his banner flying proudly in the wind. A monsoon of lasfire rose to meet the Terminators but they just shrugged it off their superior plate and not one fell: then they charged.

The effect on the rebels was akin to a grenade going off in a clenched fist. Storm bolters razed down dozens of rebels and power fists rose and fell over and over like irresistible pistons, smashing men apart. Death was in their hands, fury in their hearts and the weight of their charge shook the foundations of the planet. Everything the Terminators targeted died, nothing could stand before them and they waded through the enemy, bringing down the Emperor's judgement with every blow from their hands. Rebels ran at them, screaming in fury, but bayonet blows pattered harmless off the legendary plate and in return the mighty veterans obliterated everything within reach. It was a chage worthy of legend, the kind of tale that would endure for a thousand years and be told to aspirants for generations. In only a few seconds one Terminator squad had turned the course of the entire battle and there were only five of them: just five. But then the Baneblade saw them.

The mighty tank paused in its advance and turned slightly to bring its hull demolisher canon to bear. The wide canon adjusted its elevation slightly then it fired. The shell hit the ground right by the Terminator's feet and the veterans disappeared in a titanic explosion. Tactical Dreadnought armour was the finest protection anywhere in the Imperium, it could wade through plasma fire and withstand forces that should crush a tank, but it could not ignore physics. The mighty plate protected those wearing it but the force of the explosion sent them flying, throwing them high into the air to smash down again hard on their backs. The veterans were alive but Terminator was not known for its agility and getting back on their feet would be no simple matter, they were effectively neutralised and more rebels piled in, hacking and stabbing at the fallen Space Marines

While the fight had been raging IXth squad had managed to force their way up the lightly guarded left flank and were now at the former site of the donjons. On the edge of the battle they had avoided the worst of the onslaught Sergent Toran saw his squad were the only unit with the ability to move. He set his will and determined to take out the lynchpin of the Heretic's army and so led his squad in a charge towards the Baneblade.

Dozens of rebels stood between them but he lashed out left and right with his power sword to cut down all in his way. Novak's blade was a blur of steel as he thrust and slashed, slicing apart anyone who came close while Persion simply stabbed his his foes, taking the simplest route to end his opponents. Behind them Bylan raced with his bolter barking, blasting any foes whom the others missed and might threaten the precious Combi-Meltas. Swiftly IXth squad approached the rear of the Baneblade and Toran cut aside the last defenders before yelling, "Open fire!"

Instantly Furion, Daite, Halis and Jediah levelled their special weapons and unleashed streams of fusion fire at point blank range. The Super Heavy tank's rear armour hissed and smoked for a single second then it gave way, thick plates evaporating and liquefying before their eyes. Terrific heat blew back but they stood firm and piled on the fire. Layer after layer of armour peeled back and the beams tore onwards, cutting deeply into the hull and wrecking terrible damage.

Any other vehicle would have been destroyed but the Baneblade was a product of an earlier epoch, designed in a time when mankind understood the blasphemous mysterious of science and innovation. Forged by the finest artisans on Mars itself and blessed by venerable Archmagi of the Cult Mechanicus the Super Heavy tank endured the inferno and emerged battered but unbroken. IXth squad stood aghast, unable to comprehend what had just happened, and Daite spat, "Abaddon's balls, how much damage can that monster take?!"

The tank didn't even bother to turn round to face them as its turret turned contemptuously about to target an embattled tactical squad. The colossal canon unleashed a blast that obliterated the squad, sending body parts and shards of ceramite flying high to rain down in a hideous shower. IXth squad couldn't believe what they were seeing until Captain Phalros' voice came over the vox shouting, "Get clear and find cover, Dreadnought reinforcements are being brought up, they will take that monstrosity down."

Frantically Toran cried, "There's not enough time, it will kill us all first!"

He scanned the Baneblade desperately for any weaknesses but then he spied something. High above him the tank's commander was standing up in his hatch, watching the battle unfold. Before Toran even knew what he was doing he was in motion, leaping up onto the tank's rear engine block. As IXth squad watched on the Sergeant clambered up the rear of the turret, climbing over comms arrays and tool boxes. The commander must have sense something for he turned about and saw the Space Marine closing from behind. The man was no fool and immediately dropped down, pulling the hatch closed over his head.

Toran dove to stop it and just managed to get his hand under the lintel before it shut, he knelt and pulled upwards to tear the hatch open and then peered down. He was welcomed with a laspistol shot to the face that burned a crater into his helm; one inch lower and it would have gone through his eye lens. Toran reached down and grabbed the commander by the throat and in one move heaved the man out, throwing the shrieking rebel over the prow of the tank, where he disappeared beneath the Baneblade's grinding treads. Toran sheathed his sword and pulled a frag grenade from his belt then dropped it into the darkness of the hatch; he waited a second for the flat crump of the grenade and then followed it into the hole.

The hatch was meant for mortal men and it was extremely awkward to fit his pauldrons through the gap but he squeezed into the turret and found the remains of the gunners within. They had been riddled with shrapnel and blood covered every surface but so large was the Baneblade that the crew elsewhere were still alive. Feeling time turn against him Toran had to smash apart several chairs and protuberances to fit through but he managed to squeeze his bulk down to the bottom of the turret and dropped into a short corridor running the length of the tank. He faced a choice to go front or the back and chose to press forwards, leaning his wide shoulders sideways and down to fit in the narrow access tunnel.

He clambered through the tank and found the driver and hull gunners, still working the prow weapons and demolisher canon. So overwhelming was the noise and vibration of the tank's operation that they had failed to realise they had been boarded and remained blissfully unaware of his approach. Toran crept up behind them and killed with swiftly with his bare hands, leaving the bodies where they lay. For good measure he put his fist through the driver's controls and finally the great war machine was brought to a halt. That left only the engineseers and the sponson gunners to be dealt with so Toran methodically worked his way through the tank, killing everyone he found.

The mighty Super Heavy tank had been turned into a graveyard and satisfied with his work Toran kicked open a hatch and squirmed awkwardly into the open air. Outside he found the battle had turned, without the Baneblade the defender's will had been broken. Seeing their invincible war machine brought to a halt was too much, they could not understand its loss and so their will to fight shattered. They ran from the battlefield screaming and pissing themselves as jubilant Space Marines gunned them down in droves.

Toran was greeted by IXth squad who gathered round him cheering and clapping him on the shoulders. Bylan in particular seemed to be lost in hero worship as he declared in wonder, "+A Super Heavy tank, you just took down a Super Heavy tank single handed+"

Furion agreed and declared, "A remarkable feat, your name shall be engraved on the Rock of Heroes for this!"

Toran wasn't quite sure how to respond to the praise but thankfully he didn't have to for Captain Jossat ran past them towards the open breach of the Palace. Behind him followed the bloodied squads of Fourth and Seventh Companies, wounded but yet determined to fight on, they would not quit the field until the battle was won. Jossat completely ignored the Sergeant's achievement as he yelled, "What are you standing around for, there's a Fortress to take yet!"


	8. 8

Carpe Posterum Chapter 8

Jossat ran with the bitter tang of failure gnawing at the back of his throat. Tragedy had nearly swept him away, and his Brothers too, a reversal of fortunes he should have anticipated and prepared for. He grand plan to sweep into the heart of the enemy had nearly come undone, saved only by the actions of a lone Brother and now he could only try to claw back some semblance of mastery over the situation. So he ran, trying to make up for his mistake with startling speed.

The Governor's palace was wracked with battle, dug-in defenders trying to hold back the Space Marines. In the courtyards and gardens far below furious exchanges of firepower were traded, Heretics and Space Marines blasting away at each other with no regard for collateral damage. The defenders were many and their positions well-judged, it seemed Brendan's personal guard were indeed a cut above the rabble of his regular army. Half of Fourth Company and the Reserves were rooting them out with exacting ruthlessness but they were heavily outnumbered and would have paid a price in blood, were it not for the Dreadnoughts. Three of them, the venerable war machines that bore half-dead scraps of warriors kept one inch from death. They had arrived shortly after the Baneblades' destruction and lent their aid to the battle, annihilating all they encountered.

Jossat had left them to break the last resistance while he took two assault squads into the Palace to claim Brendan's head. It was a bold move but Jossat knew he had no other choice, his plan teetered on the brink and if he faltered his bold stratagem would degenerate into a shambles. He could already hear Nimodes harping in his ear that scout-teams would have spotted the Baneblade and Phalros berating him for not waiting for Dreadnought support. He couldn't give them that chance, the personal humiliation was bad enough but for the Chapter's sake he had to quash their dissent. They were dull, plodding martinets, beholden to stagnant protocols and dreary ideas of cooperation with mortal men. They failed to see the shining destiny of Astartes was to lead mankind not follow, to fight as the Divine Emperor intended, as shining angels of death. They would make Space Marines into inglorious trenchsloggers but if Jossat could only claim the Governor's head he could show them all who the Storm Heralds were supposed to be.

Ahead a knot of Heretics barrelled around the corner of a junction, their heavy boots squeaking on the polished marble of the floor. They wore heavier carapace armour and tinted googles upon their faces and in their hands were lascarbines fitted with bayonets. They were stoked on adrenaline, well trained and muscled, able to take on a platoon of guardsmen and emerge victorious but today they were facing Captain Jossat.

Jossat saw them coming and threw himself bodily into the mass, flinging his massive bulk into the first man. Eight feet of Ceramite clad Transhuman slammed into the mortal with the power of a freight train and the man collapsed with half his bones broken. Jossat finished him off with a stomp that smeared brain matter over the floor and swept his axe laterally, bisecting another Heretic in twain at the hips. Two foes dead in the first moments but to their credit the rest were not unmanned.

Jossat found himself beset by foes, closing in to hack and gouge with bayonets. Razor sharp points tore furrows into his plate and his joints bled as cuts found openings in his armour. More and more of them piled in, trying to plunge their knives into a vulnerable spot and end Jossat, but little did they know all they were achieving was to make him angry. With a roar of fury Jossat drove the haft of his axe into a midriff, cracking carapace armour and doubling the man over, vomiting violently. An elbow shattered a man's skull and a knee caught another in the groin, inflicting such a wound as to make the man scream shrilly. With a frenzy of attacks Jossat cleared a morsel of room, then he swung his axe across the crowd, tearing flesh and lopping off limbs. Men went down with arms and legs missing, spilling entrails and fountaining blood from vicious rents in their chests. Terrible screaming filled the air, drowning out the noise of battle far below but not the grinding roar of chainswords.

Jossat grinned under his helm as twenty Assault Marines piled in, hacking and tearing with wanton abandon. Jossat had left them behind in his mad rush but they had caught up and threw themselves into the fray, following their Captain's lead to rend and slay. Heretics came apart as the squads ripped them asunder and Jossat tore on, racing towards a heavy pair of doors beyond the fight.

He crashed into the frame with his pauldron and the doughty wood parted like rotten twigs, shattering under his weight. Jossat was the first to set foot in Brendan's inner sanctum and he found it to be a den of decadence and indulgence. The walls were lined with gold and statues of the arch Heretic in regal poses. The ceiling was a mural of pastoral lecherousness, where nubile maidens paid homage to a smiling man, whose naked body was perfectly sculpted with muscles. Paintings and busts were everywhere, all of the same man and all in wise and benevolent aspect. It was a monument to vanity and ego, a narcissist given free rein to indulge himself.

Jossat had seen Slaaneshi brothels that were more tasteful than this, before he burned them down, but he ignored it all as he strode within, eyes fixed upon a massive throne. It was a gaudy monstrosity of gilt, covered in sculptures of adorning masses looking upon the centre with loving awe. Yet that was not what drew Jossat's attention, it was the fact that it was empty.

"Where are you?!" Jossat barked as he strode to the throne, "Where are you hiding?!"

To his surprise a thin laugh emerged from the throne, and he spied a vox-horn built into its mass that squawked, "Wouldn't you like to know!"

"Brendan," Jossat growled, "Come out and face me!"

"A god does not bow to the whims of ants," the voice chortled.

"You are no god," Jossat snarled, "You are a madman and a coward and I will kill you."

"I cannot die, I give life! All things bow to my will and the universe is mine to play in."

"Like your Palace," Jossat hissed, "I took it from you like I shall your head."

"You think I care for a building?!" Brendan's voice taunted, "I let you have it, to keep you busy while I prepared for the future. You can hack and slay all you want but I tend to loftier matters."

"You cannot hide from me, I shall find you."

"Look all you want, I am beyond your reach!" Brendan scorned then the vox shut down. Jossat was left staring at a vacant throne with nothing to show for his efforts. His plan to end the rebellion in a day had never been possible; he had thrown away the lives of his Brothers for nothing. The enormity of his mistake surged up in his throat and his anger flared as he drove his axe into the throne, shattering the stonework and cleaving away shards of marble in his anger. Again and again he struck it as he vented his rage and he cried, "I will find you! Damn you, I will find you and take your head with my own two hands. I am Jossat and I shall be your end, this I swear, you will die by my hand!"


	9. 9

Carpe Posterum Chapter 9

The courtyards outside the Governor's Palace were smoking ruins, festooned with bodies and wrecked barricades. Marble flagstones were cracked and sprayed with blood while toppled statues of Brendan the Mad were strewn everywhere. Heavy weapons lay piled upon the ground, covered in the mutilated remains of the Heretics who had crewed them. Ornamental fish ponds steamed as burning bodies were kicked into the waters, quenching the fires in the most undignified way possible. A ten foot tall statue of Brendan had been shattered, blown apart by an errant missile and bits of it dotted the lawn, its head laying upside down in the gravel of a footpath strewn with the bodies of his followers.

The Storm Heralds had fought their way from the outer gates, wading through fierce resistance but ultimately carving a path into the heart of the defence and racing past the high doors of the Palace itself. Standing in that doorway was Sergeant Toran, looking out at the devastation beyond, it had been a fine fight but a hard one and the butcher's bill had been heavy. Though he was loathe to admit it had it not been for the timely arrival of the Dreadnoughts he was not confident that they could have broken through.

He stood surveying the battlefield and observing parties of serfs going to and fro, dragging piles of corpses aside to reveal blue armoured figures and finding the weapons of the dead. Far more grim were the pair of white-armoured Apothecaries who inspected each and every find. Sometimes they would call for servitors to bring up stretchers but far more often they would shake their heads grimly and solemnly extract the sacred gene-seed. Brothers had died this day and the Scrolls of Honour would grew significantly longer.

Toran turned away sadly and walked back into the grand entrance of the Palace, passing under a gargoyle encrusted archway into a soaring atrium beyond. Once it had been a place of light and beauty with stained glass windows, elaborate frescos and ludicrously large chandeliers but now it was a smoke filled cave riddled with bolter holes. Toran walked over the tiled floor, stepping over the piles of dead rebels and grimaced as he saw lines of prisoners being led out form the adjoining corridors and stairwells. Squads of Seventh Company were roughly dragging mortals out of their hiding places and separating them into two groups. Those deemed combatants, who had raised their hands against the Storm Heralds, were being given swift executions with combat blades. It was more honour than they deserved but that was not what was disturbing the Sergeant, it was the actions of the Chaplains.

Those prisoners who were deemed non-combatants were being shoved into a kneeling circle of people, clerks, scullery maids and butlers all huddled together and cowering fearfully. Standing over them was a skull helmed Chaplain, Father Philsa of Fourth Company, his visage terrifying with bones ornaments over black armour. He was reading aloud from a thick Holy text, preaching of the divinity of the God-Emperor and the perils their heresy had brought upon their souls. Circling the group were a pair of brothers from Molin's squad, they watched the prisoners keenly, judging their responses to the teachings. Occasionally they would swoop in and snatch up a man or woman they deemed insufficiently pious and drag them away. The rest would look on in horror but were too terrified to protest. The offenders were dragged away to excruciation racks that had been set up on the far side of the atrium and thrown into their cruel embrace. The wails and screams of the damned carried through the space and encouraged the rest to show more piety, or at least pretend too.

Toran felt disgust at the dishonour his Chapter brought upon itself with these practices. The Codex Astartes had nothing to say on such matters and Toran took that to mean his Primarch had never dreamt his sons would stoop to such practices. Toran held it to be perversion of the Chapter's martial spirit, a defilement of their purpose. He was sworn to put an end to it all but such an endeavour required subtly and discretion lest it spark a civil war. No Space Marines wanted to be remember as a kin-slayer.

He stamped past briskly and tried to shut out the screaming as he concentrated on his goal at the far end of the atrium. As he walked up to the grand staircase he could see that the wide path was buried under a mound of rubble and stonework. Whoever had planned the defence had been somewhat competent and had blown the far roof the second the outer gates doors feel. Captain Jossat had led a pair of Assault Marines over the debris and up secondary staircases, giving the Heretics no respite. They were still up there, hunting for the rebel governor and killing every heretic they found.

Standing before the cave-in were three massive forms, humanoid in shape but inhuman in bulk. Boxy and broad in a way no living thing could be for they were the Storm Herald's Dreadnoughts. Toran had been a Space Marine for almost a century yet in that time had had scant opportunity to fight alongside such venerable brothers and never been so close in the thick of the melee. He had been astonished by their power and by the devastation they unleashed but most all by their relentless determination, focus and consummate skill. Wherever the battle had teetered they had been there, smiting the foe and inspiring the Initiates through feats of valour. They knew battle intimately, each of them boasting more combat-experience than a squad of Brothers combined. No wonder they were held in such reverence by the rank and file.

Toran gave the Dreadnoughts a wide berth and walked over to where IXth squad was standing rear guard by the stairwells. It was an important duty but Halis had loudly voiced his opinion that it was just to keep Ninth Company from stealing any of the glory. Toran approached them and overhead Furion talking to Bylan, "Have you ever seen a dreadnought before lad?"

Bylan answered in his mechanical wheeze, "+Never have i seen something so impressive+"

"Impressive?!" laughed Persion, "Child you are looking at living history, all those legends you dreamed of as an Neophyte, those Brothers lived them."

Furion pointed to one boxy form saying, "See that Castaferrum, that is Bellerophon the Slayer of Despots, victor of the Kauros Graveyard. That Hellfire over there, that is Venerable Temeraire, who singlehandedly held the line at battle for the Tannhauser Gate."

"+And that one?+" asked Bylan pointing a Dreadnought which was oddly smooth-limbed and elegantly machined, where its kin were squat and brutal. For it was that rarest of breeds, a Contemptor Dreadnought. The only Contemptor the Storm Heralds boasted.

"That?" Furion whispered, "That is the oldest Storm Herald you will ever lay eyes upon, so old he saw the charter of our Chapter being issued at our very foundation. That is Honourable Ajax."

Bylan looked amazed and spluttered, "+But that would make him five thousand years old!+"

"Indeed he is," said Toran as he joined the group, "And you should be in awe, for he has seen and done more than we could ever imagine. It is a singular honour to be standing alongside him, generations of Storm Heralds have been born and died since last he was awake. Remember this moment, for it will not come again."

"+Aye Sergeant+" said Bylan in awe.

As the words left his mouth something changed, from where he was standing Ajax must have heard them talking for his reactor growled to life and he became animated. With a heavy ponderous step the Contemptor took a stamping pace forwards then another and another as he lumbered over to them. Quickly he closed with IXth squad and then stopped, looming over them and for the first time they realised what it was like to be totally outclassed. Space Marines dwarfed mortal men but the Dreadnought was as far above them in turn. Toran refused to be intimidated but he could not help wonder at the power and lethality of the Dreadnought, the promise of inevitable death that hung around Ajax's assault cannon and power fist. For moment Toran wondered should Ajax mean him harm then would he be able to do the slightest thing about it... then he wondered if that was how mortals felt when they faced him.

Ajax stood there, casting them all into shadow and then from a mechanical vox-hornboomed, "YOU ARE A SERGEANT?"

Toran swallowed and answered "Yes, Honourable Brother."

"YOU WILL TALK WITH ME," rumbled Ajax then he turned on his waist gimbal to address the rest of the squad saying, "YOU WILL DEPART."

IXth squad did not run from the venerable Contemptor but there was a certain briskness to their pace as they moved further down the atrium and took up a post just within earshot. Ajax faced Toran and his chassis' visual lenses focused upon the warrior before he boomed, "YOU WILL TELL ME WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS DEBACLE."

Toran swallowed once as he replied, "I am not sure I follow you..."

Ajax boomed, "THIS ATTACK WAS POORLY CONCEIVED AND SLOPPILY EXECUTED, EXCLUDING THE IMPERIAL GUARD WAS A GREVIOUS ERROR."

Toran had thought much the same thing earlier but felt the need to defend his leader's actions and said, "Captain Jossat believed an immediate assault could end this war in one day and spare the lives of many of the Emperor's soldiers in unnecessary battles."

Ajax was incapable of any kind of facial expression or body language but Toran could have sworn the Dreadnought was looking scornful as he snarled, "CLEARLY STANDARDS HAVE SLIPPED WHILE I WAS ASLEEP. JOSSAT SHALL ANSWER TO ME FOR HIS BLUNDERS."

Then Ajax paused and turned slightly on his waist, Toran realised that the ancient warrior had noticed the events taking place further down the atrium and was focussing all his eye lenses upon the crowds of prisoners. In a slow rumble Ajax uttered, "WHAT THE HELL DO THEY THINK THEY ARE DOING?"

Now Toran did feel intimidated and he swallowed to gain a second to think before answering, "The Chaplain is educating these prisoners in the folly of rebellion and explaining how to give due reverence to the Emperor."

"DUE REVERENCE?" said Ajax grinding each word out like grit caught in his vox-horn, "MY CHAPTER IS PROMOTING WORSHIP!"

The mighty Contemptor took a heavy step forward that made the broken chandeliers rattle and sway as he growled, "THIS SHALL NOT STAND!"

As the dreadnought took another lumbering step forwards his Kheres pattern assault canon began to spin and Toran had to hurry to interpose himself between the war machine and his kin. Toran called, "Honourable Brother please desist!"

Ajax wasn't listening and snarled, "THEY SPIT UPON EVERYTHING THE EMPEROR STOOD FOR!"

The distant Chaplain was looking over now and Toran hurriedly said, "The matter is being dealt with but not like this, not with the blood of brothers on our hands... Would you be known as a kinslayer?"

That made the Dreadnought pause and he looked down saying, "YOU THINK THIS CAN BE DEALT WITHOUT BLOODSHED?"

Toran gulped and answered "They are misguided but their loyalty is unquestioned, we will put a stop to this without spilling blood. The Chapter Master himself is working to erase the stain on our honour."

The Dreadnought stood impassively looking at the Sergeant and Toran had no way of knowing what he was thinking, then Ajax said, "WHAT WAS YOUR NAME?"

The Sergeant looked up at his ancient kin and said, "Toran."

Ajax boomed, "TORAN, TELL WHICHEVER CHILD FANCIES HIMSELF CHAPTER MASTER THAT IF HE DOES NOT STOP THIS ABOMINATION THEN I SHALL DO IT FOR HIM." Then he turned and stomped away leaving Toran to gasp in relief at the closeness of the disaster he had just averted.

He was swiftly joined by IXth squad who had heard everything, they gathered and Daite said, "I wasn't sure you would manage to talk him down."

"I wasn't either," confessed Toran.

"Well at least one crisis has been resolved," said Persion, "Just in time for the next."

Toran looked at him askance and Persion elaborated, "While you were talking there has been a signal from the top of the Palace. Captain Jossat has swept the mansion three times and found nothing, Governor Brendan is not here: he was never here."

"What?!" Toran exclaimed in shock, "You don't mean..."

Furion however stated grimly, "This entire assault has all been for nothing."


	10. 10

Carpe Posterum Chapter10

Grey skies pressed down upon the spaceport, making the ferrocrete seem dank and wet in the gloom. the unnatural layer of ash and soot in the atmosphere blocked much of the sunlight and cast the whole world into twilight. Temperatures were dropping as Guardsmen wrapped themselves in great coats and gathered round flaming barrels and they looked on enviously at workers labouring over hot machinery in the loading docks.

Sergeant Toran however saw none of that, for he was standing to attention outside Captain Phalros' billet in the Astartes' forward base. He had been waiting patiently outside the prefabricated chamber for he knew Captain Jossat was within but was trying not to listen in to his superior's heated argument. After an indeterminate amount of time the door slammed open and Captain Jossat stormed out. He did not even look at Toran but stomped off, scowling fiercely at everything. Toran watched him go but was snapped back to attention as Phalros' equerry waved him in.

The Sergeant marched inside and saluted his Captain with the Aquila. Phalros was sitting behind a Nalwood desk, leaning back in his robes of office as his artificer plate was meticulously polished on its stand by his equerry. The Captain's patrician features and hooked nose usually gave him a disapproving air but today he was practically glowering. Toran wondered what he and Jossat had been talking about to disturb him so but was swiftly disabused of that notion as Phalros said, "So Brother-Sergeant, are you proud of yourself?"

"Brother-Captain?" said Toran still standing to attention in his armour and unsure of what he had done to upset the Captain.

Phalros continued, "Your stunt with the Baneblade is the talk of the camp, everybody is talking about it. Yet they all seem to forget that in doing so you contravened my direct order to fall back."

Now Toran understood his Captain's ire and felt his stomach sink. For a Space Marine orders were sacrosanct, a superior was to obeyed as if their words had come from the Emperor himself. Toran could not bring even think of what he had done as disobedience but his actions had certain been an extremely liberal interpretation of his orders. He stood ramrod straight and said, "I offer no excuses for my actions, I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

Phalros eyeballed him, looking for any hint of deceit or bravado, then his face eased somewhat and he said, "Sit down; you are fortunate that happened to be the most misguided order I have ever given. Without your actions we would have suffered a crushing defeat... this is becoming a habit for you."

Toran took a seat that creaked alarmingly under his armoured weight as Phalros continued, "You remain a very curious Space Marine, despite everything the Chaplains could do and despite all the Hypno-indoctrination, you somehow kept a working brain in your head. This is increasingly becoming a concern, many in the highest levels are expressing the opinion that the duties of a line Sergeant do not suit you and not all of them mean that as a compliment. Captain Jossat in particular is most displeased by your actions and by the way your name is ringing in the camp."

Toran wasn't sure how to respond to the critique so tactfully asked, "Is that why he was speaking to you?"

Phalros snorted and said, "No, he was trying to get me on his side when he has to present this farce to the Council of Masters. I however was reminding him of my earlier objections; he will face their ire alone."

Toran was surprised this and commented, "Enemy resistance was fierce, are the Masters really so petty as to seek to apportion blame?"

Phalros sighed loudly as he replied, "The situation is far worse than you know, if we had waited for proper reconnaissance then this debacle could have been entirely avoided but instead sixty-five brothers were incapacitated and the apothecaries expect that barely a third of those will live to fight again."

Toran gasped in disbelief, an Astartes was a gene-built miracle and clad in ancient armour, putting one down was difficult but then their multitude of extra organs meant they could recover from almost any injury that did not kill them outright. To have that many Space Marines actually die in one battle was a black mark on the entire Chapter, one that would be remembered and mourned for decades.

He could not help but blurt out, "That is a third of the taskforce's fighting strength!"

Phalros concurred, "Indeed and every death is laid upon Jossat's bungling, his status among the Masters has been ruined."

Toran found the statement unbelievably callous and said, "How can we speak of noble brother's deaths as being tools for political advantage?!"

"Sometimes you can be painfully naïve," Phalros retorted, "If you would move in the corridors of power you must learn that one can have more than one motivation at a time. Noble brothers died for no good reason and the best we can do for them is make sure it never happens again. Jossat's humiliation is in and of itself irrelevant but undermining his reckless position is essential. It is major step along the path to putting this Chapter back on the straight and narrow. His brand of arrogance lends itself well to Emperor Worship and were he ever to become to become Chapter Master he would not be content to leave the running of the Imperium to the High Lords."

Toran gasped, "Surely not, you speak of insurrection. No Space Marine would countenance such a thing."

Phalros sighed, "Ultramar does, there Astartes manage the rule of worlds and it is a beacon of productivity and loyalty. some whisper we should follow suit, replacing the civil bodies of the Imperium with superior souls."

Toran was aghast at the every idea, it struck at everything he stood for. Yet if Ultramar could do it then others could too. An empire of the Astartes, he hated to admit it but the idea was tempting. Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door and Phalros said, "Say nothing of this to anyone, we must now focus on more pressing concerns."

Through the hatch came Sergeant Nimodes in his scout armour. Toran was surprised t see the grizzled veteran and made to stand up but Nimodes promptly dropped into another chair and placed a large case he was carrying at his feet. Phalros didn't seem to mind the discourtesy and said, "Greetings Sergeant Nimodes, I understand you have come to brief us on matters of strategic intelligence."

Nimodes nodded and began, "Yes I have for the war has widened. With the escape of Governor Brendan we have been forced to spread our forces across the planet in an effort to flush him out. Orbital scans have become unreliable, with so much debris in the atmosphere, and we have been forced to ask the Imperial Guard for extra personnel to cover as much ground as possible."

Toran and Phalros shared a significant look at those words, understanding what it meant for their secret campaign, as Nimodes stated, "Meanwhile we have been sweeping the old Palace for clues as to where Brendan may have fled but in doing so we found something most unexpected."

Phalros cocked an eyebrow and asked, "More unexpected than an absent governor?"

Nimodes reached into the case at his feet and drew out an object saying, "This was found in the Governor's private trophy collection."

Toran picked it up and turned it over in his hands seeing that it was a Bolt pistol but not a normal one. Most Imperial bolt pistols were scaled down versions with smaller calibres and recoil compensators built in, this however was a full sized model, such as an Astartes might use. The size and power of such a weapon made it ludicrous for any mortal to wield and it could not possibly serve any function other than as a trophy. Toran thought that it was functionally identical to the one he used as he turned it over then he saw something that made him start: the spiral inside a starburst that was the Chapter's icon.

"This belongs to the Chapter!" he blurted out.

Nimodes nodded and said, "Indeed and it is not alone."

He pulled out a gauntlet, a greave and a helm all in Storm Herald's colours. Phalros reached out and picked up each item one at a time, he turned them over and peered at the serial numbers engraved on each and then commented, "These are not just from our Chapter, they are all from the same squad, but I do not recognise which one."

Nimodes nodded and said, "I would be surprised if you did, we had to delve deeply into the Thunderlord's library stacks to find a match. These are from VIth squad, Second Company, under Sergeant Hevaste whose ship disappeared in a Warp Storm thirteen hundred years ago. They were mourned with all honour and nothing has been heard of them since... until now. "

Phalros pressed, "You think the ship emerged in this stellar system?"

Nimodes shrugged and said, "The ship was lost in Segmentum Solar but the Warp is fickle, anything is possible where that nightmarish realm is concerned. Brendan's thugs could have found it or a Rogue Trader stumbled on the wreck and sold him the relics or they passed through the Black Market for years before ending up here. the possibilities are endless."

Toran felt incensed by the notion and spat, "A heretic has possession of heirlooms of the Chapter?!"

"It is far worse than that,"Nimodes grimaced, "Sergeant Hevaste was charged with a critical mission at the time of his disappearance. His squad were forming an honour guard for the gene-seed of brothers killed in the siege of Koralag."

Toran practically leapt out of his chair as the sergeant cried, "The heretic has taken sacred gene-seed, he steals the very future of our Chapter!"

Phalros was more composed but growled, "He shall pay for this insult, tell me where I can find him and I shall make him suffer."

Nimodes appeared unflappable but his tone had a sharp edge to it as he said, "Brendan has a whole planet to hide in, there are a billion places he could be."

Toran gripped his chair so hard the wood splintered as he leaned in to say, "Use your instincts, what does your gut tell you?"

Nimodes frowned and replied, "There is no way to tell but I have a notion where to start looking. There is a Heretic comm-relay station in the mountains, I have had a scout-team observing it for the last six hours. If they can capture the outpost intact we can sift the cogitators for clues as to where Brendan is hiding."

Phalros frowned and said, "This is too important to entrust to scouts, I shall undertake the mission personally."

Nimodes scowled as he rebutted, "My scouts can handle it."

But Phalros argued, "And if the rebels have time to erase the logs we are left guessing. I need certainity of success."

But Nimodes countered, "Jossat will never let you hare off chasing ghosts. He will demand to know what you're doing, then blunder in trying to recover his reputation."

Toran butted in, "Send my squad then, IXth squad can do this."

Phalros stared at him for a long moment as if weighing the decision but inevitably said, "Sergeant Nimodes, IXth squad will accompany you. Your orders are to locate Brendan and then retrieve our legacy."

Toran stood up placed his hand upon his sword's hilt as he proclaimed, "I make an Oath of Moment that we will reclaim our Chapter's future and Brendan will pay for sullying our chapter's legacy."


	11. 11

Carpe Posterum Chapter 11

The Rhino rocked on its tracks as it climbed the road, noticeably tilting back as the path grew steeper. Ferrocrete had long since petered out, giving way to damp mud and loose scree. The road was quickly becoming a goat trail but the Rhino cared not, it powered over the terrain without pause, though the ride was becoming noticeably rougher.

Sitting in the troop bay Toran leaned back on his seat and took in the compartment. It was a typical Astartes' vehicle, utilitarian and functional in all respects, save for the holy icons placed in unobtrusive spots and the purity seals of maintenance blessings. Bolt racks were placed in convenient places and power sockets for armour recharge, automatically connecting to replenish their plate's generator cells. Everything about it was perfectly placed and efficiently designed, every feature ergonomically exact. Space Marines had been using the Rhino pattern for ten millennia and they had worked out all the kinks.

The only inconvenience was the flakes of ash floating through the open hatch. It had been left open so Jediah and Daite could look out and observe the terrain. Orbital surveillance had declared this area clear of threats but the Codex Astartes firmly commanded wariness at all times, so a watch was kept for traps and ambushes. Plus given the distortion of nuclear winter Toran wasn't sure they could trust orbital imagery. As an extra precaution Furion was in the driver's bay, taking over from the embedded Servitor. The lobotomised cyberslave could operate the Rhino if needed but nothing bested a Space Marine's eyesight.

There was a soft cough from across the bay as Nimodes wafted a hand before his face and muttered, "Damned ash, gets everywhere."

The scout was noticeably smaller than a Brother in power armour but he sat back with the ease of one who had done this a million times. Toran leaned forward and asked, "Do you believe this comm-relay has the information we need?"

Nimodes sniffed, "I believe it's our only option, Jossat's blundering has left us blind and deaf. Without intel we're screwed."

Heads turned at the frank criticism of the Captain and Bylan said, "+You speak so disrespectfully of a Brother-Captain?!+"

Nimodes grinned, "Jossat is well aware of my opinion of him. I think the only lower regard in existence is his for me."

Halis interjected, "You don't get along?"

Surprisingly it was Novak who chimed in, "Jossat's never forgiven us for Cosos ridge!"

Persion started, "Wait, you two know each other?!"

Nimodes nodded, "He was in my scout squad, and let me tell you I've never had a more loquacious novice. He never bloody shut up, took me years to figure out how to make him stop talking."

Persion leaned in eagerly to press, "I will give you my bolter if you tell me how to make Novak silent."

Novak laughed, "Come now Brother, you are well aware I bring a sheen of glory to the squad."

"Only because standing next to you makes the rest of us look good in comparison," Persion retorted.

Toran rolled his organic eye and said, "What happened between you at Cosos Ridge?"

Nimodes demurred, "Nothing you'd be interested in."

But Novak exclaimed, "He went against orders to rescue us and killed Roharn the Black Magister in the process!"

Nimodes groaned, "If you're going to tell everybody it at least get it right. It was on Camalis, the swamp-world fiefdom to Crux Lapis. A Tzeentchian cult rose up among the abhuman population and tried to overthrow Imperial rule. The Tech-priests were running in circles trying to find the mastermind, Roharn, but he was slippery and employed magic's to avoid capture. So the Chapter sent an expedition to put down the rebellion, but we couldn't find the bastard. We combed the toxic swamps and waded through muck, trading shots with half-seen mutants in the grey mists. We'd find camps and outposts and burn them to the ground but he'd never be there. We must have culled thousands of his followers but Roharn himself gave us the slip for six months."

"One man held up a battle-company for half a year?" Toran gasped.

"Hardly our finest hour," Nimodes muttered, "So where was I… oh yes. So one day a scout-team was ambushed in the mountains, one more trap in an endless parade of skirmishes. Only this time they couldn't fight their way out of it. Vox-calls came in for relief but Jossat denied it."

"He left them to die?" Toran spluttered.

"Jossat reckoned he'd finally found the magister's base and was in the middle of recalling all squads. Six months of slogging through mud had made him impatient, he said he couldn't spare a single squad, not if it meant letting Roharn slip through our hands again."

"+I can't believe he'd be so callous+" Bylan hissed.

"That's war," Halis retorted bitterly, "Tough calls and sacrifices are inevitable. For what it's worth I'd have done the same in his boots."

"We know you would," Persion snapped, "Stop interrupting."

Nimodes drew in a breath and continued, "Well I disagreed, lads I'd trained were in danger, I wasn't going to sit back and let them die. So I borrowed an Arvus lighter and took off for the mountains."

"+You disobeyed an order?!+" Bylan gasped.

But Nimodes grinned, "Jossat said he couldn't spare a squad, he said nothing of one Marine. Technically he never ordered me not to go."

"Surely he tried to recall you," Toran pressed.

"Funny thing, it seems the Arvus' vox was broken… oh well," Nimodes scoffed.

"So how did you kill Roharn?" Persion asked, "Did you duel him in single combat and claim his head for the Chapter?"

"Hardly so glorious," Nimodes scoffed, "No, I landed unobserved and sneaked closer. The scouts were pinned in a defile, trapped by heavy weapon teams and unable to break out. I was trying to get into an elevated position to rain down sniper fire on the gunners when who should appear coming the other way but Roharn. Six bloody months we'd been scouring those bogs and fens, hunting his spoor and the sodding rat only goes and steps out from behind a boulder straight into my path. I can't tell you the look of surprise on his face, it was comical. We both went for our weapons but I was faster, I put a bullet in his heart and he died, still with that look of surprise on his face. Then I carried on to take out the gunners and that was that."

Persion muttered, "You were right, that wasn't very glorious."

But Novak snorted, "Seemed pretty damned glorious to us, trapped in the defile. Can't tell you how relieved we were to see Nimodes picking off the gunners. Told everybody what he'd done when we got back to base. They said he'd be promoted to First Company."

Halis interjected, "Bet Jossat was spitting mad when he heard."

Nimodes grinned as he retorted, "I thought his head would explode but he was savvy enough to know he couldn't reprimand me. The war was won; the abhumans surrendered in hours once they heard the Magister was dead. One bullet and the fight went out of them. Jossat wasn't pleased but he had his victory, yet he had to do something about me defying his will. So he and High Chaplain Samect gave me a medal and a fancy speech then informed me I wasn't going to the First, in fact I'd never be leaving Tenth-Company. Said my dedication and skills were shining examples for the Scout-novices and the training-cadres couldn't afford to lose me. They thought it a punishment, hah jokes on them. I wouldn't want to be in the First, not if it meant kowtowing to their ilk."

Toran wasn't quite such what to make of the tale. It wasn't the saga of heroism he had expected but it had the bitter ring of truth to it. He could believe every word, save the part about not wanting to join the First Company. Every Space Marine yearned to join that legendary Brotherhood… didn't they?

Thankfully he was saved from answering his own question as the Rhino rumbled to a halt and Furion called, "We're here!" Immediate Toran jammed on his helm and leapt for the lowering ramp, eager to be back in battle and put these thoughts behind him.


	12. 12

Carpe Posterum Chapter 12

Toran hunkered down behind a boulder and counted silently in his head. Beyond the rock lay the comms-relay, the target they had come to claim. It wasn't much to look at; a small bunker huddled among the rock slopes of the mountain, barely big enough to hold a few operators and the machinery within. It was the same shade of grey as the rock slope but its nature was betrayed by the metallic antenna tower sticking out of the top, the means by which it linked together the Heretic's comms-network, what little remained of it.

Toran judged it couldn't hold more than half-a-dozen mortals. No match for a squad of Astartes but the danger wasn't the physical threat they represented but that they would signal an alarm. If the mad governor Brendan was hiding somewhere they couldn't risk him learning they were on his tail, they had to take that bunker swiftly and uncover whatever data it held.

Behind him IXth squad lurked, waiting for the signal to move. Toran however held still, unwilling to act until the moment was ripe. There was a lookout standing on the roof of the bunker, scouring the area. Toran had seen him from afar as they left the Rhino in cover, his genhanced vision picking the man out long before he saw them in turn. Nimodes had told them he could deal with the lookout, so they waited, trusting in his skills.

There was the smallest puff of wind as a single shot flew overhead and Toran was instantly on his feet, sprinting for all he was worth. Ahead he saw the lookout keel over, the stalker bolt silently eliminating him before he ever knew he was under attack. Now the clock was running, the squad had to reach the bunker before the operators knew they were compromised. Toran had his power sword in hand as he sprinted and his legs covered the ground with great bounds. Space Marines could move faster than most men could comprehend but the distance was great and the slope was exposed. The bunker swelled in his vision, growing bigger with every step but still seeming glacially slow to his eyes. If they were spotted there was a chance the mortals could hit an alarm, all it would take would be one alert soul and the plan would be ruined. So Toran put his head down and sprinted, pumping his legs for all they were worth as his arms swung back and forth.

Closer and closer they came and Toran thought they had made it, but then a mortal's head rose straight up from behind a bump in the ground, right in his path. Time froze as Toran took in the man, looking for weapons but there was nothing. The Heretic was carrying no armaments and had his trousers around his ankles and piss was running around his ankles. He looked utterly shocked and bewildered, unable to understand what was going on and piss was running down his legs. He'd stepped out for a latrine break, Toran realised, the man was only answering the call of nature and had not expected an attack. He may not have even seen the lookout falling.

None of that prevented Toran sweeping his sword across to part the man's head from his shoulders. The body fell, spurting blood everywhere as Toran raced on, leaving his victim in his wake. During the pause Novak had pulled ahead and beat Toran to the door, he dove within and there arose a great calamity as he set about the Heretics within. Toran was the second to the door and pushed inside, finding bodies everywhere. Novak's slim rapier punched through hearts and tore out windpipes, laying low rebels with every stroke.

Four men were dead already but one, an officer was reaching for a power sword on his belt, intending to engage Novak blade to blade. He was put back though as Toran's sword rammed into his heart, slicing clean through the man and out the other side, killing him before he could draw steel. Toran shook the corpse off his blade and looked about to find the fight over, the Heretics were done for.

There was a shadow at the door as Persion leaned in and commented, "You could have left some for us!"

Novak laughed, "Don't blame me if you're too slow!"

Toran cut them off as he snapped, "Persion stop yakking, get in here and get me something useful!" Persion squeezed into the bunker and began poking at a console. They were all capable of breaking into basic vox-nets but Persion was the communication specialist, no comms-cypher was safe when he was around, as the masters of the Chapter often lamented.

It was a narrow squeeze with three Space Marines in the bunker so Toran and Novak inched back to give Persion room. Novak looked about and muttered, "Poor fare, this fight was too easy."

Toran sniffed, "We are hardly dealing with Chaos Marines, but you're right these dregs were nothing. Brendan's least worthy troops I'd wager."

"I saw you kill that man taking a dump," Novak commented, "Killing a man with his pants down, hardly honourable."

"Traitors deserve no consideration," Toran replied, "He sacrificed any claim to honour when he turned on the Emperor. We fight to protect the innocent but this planet has only Heretics, there shall be no mercy for them."

"I wouldn't like to see what the Inquisition will do to the survivors after we win," Novak muttered.

Suddenly Persion cried, "I've got something!"

Toran leaned in as a vox-horn began to blare, "Children of Brendan, hear now you god's words! Our world has been invaded by vile interlopers but be not afraid. These parodies of my greatness cannot withstand my majesty and soon I shall reach forth my hand and sweep them from our lands. Hear me when I say Brendan is all-powerful and none can oppose him, I bring life! Keep the faith my children and soon you will see my power at work!"

"He truly is mad," Novak muttered.

But Toran asked, "Can you trace this?"

Persion answered, "They were preparing to transmit this over the continent. It's a taped recording but the data-logs have the origin point. Clever of him to use a relay to broadcast, but not clever enough."

"Good work," Toran stated, "It is time we visited this Brendan and taught him what true power looks like."


	13. 13

Carpe Posterum Chapter13

High in the mountains black snow was falling, the usual crisp whiteness stained by the soot and ash in the atmosphere. The snowline was already advancing down the valleys, far further than it ever had before, encroaching on the plain below. Those plains were cast into a twilight world of a nuclear winter, crops and forests were already wilting from the cold and gloom, soon this world would be plunged into famine and millions would die. Of course that would make no difference to the clerks of the Administratum, this world owed two years of unpaid tithes and the grey-faced bureaucrats would not left a little thing like global catastrophe stop them from collecting their dues.

None of that mattered though to the group of armoured figures laying prone on a ridgeline high above the snowline, every Marine carrying a canopic jar at his belt just in case they should find the missing gene-seed. They were laid out on the crest of the ridgeline, so as not to be silhouetted against the grey sky as they observed a manse nestled in a valley far below. They had been laying unmoving for three hours, charting the building's lay out, noting guard patrols and counting guns. The Primarch Roboute Guilliman had written in the Codex Astartes that 'Information is Victory' and so they gathered all the information they could as they planned their assault. A party of Imperial Stormtroopers would have taken ten times as long to accomplish the same task but these were Transhumans after all.

Sergeant Toran was closely watching the lodge, tracking every movement of roving guards and memorising every feature. To his left was Daite and to his right was Sergeant Nimodes. Further down the ridge line were the rest of the squad, Furion, Jediah, Halis Paur and Persion who were tending to their Combi-meltas. Bylan was far too junior to be entrusted with the solemn duty of bearing a relic weapon and Novak was polishing his rapier again, seemingly disinterested, but the Sergeant knew he was aware of everything occurring.

Nimodes was peering through a magnifying viewscope at the manse, assessing every feature and running mental scenarios of attack. Toran of course needed no such tools, his augmetic eye was far superior in magnification and let him see into spectrums mortal men never could, that didn't stop Nimodes from lecturing, "Observe the windows, too low and too wide for effective defence they are an obvious entry points. Too obvious, we should expect trip wires and grenades laced around the windowsills. Similarly the garage entrance seems unguarded; expect mines to be laid around it. Multi-lasers have been placed at corner points of the rooftops but their arc is too long, once in close they will be unable to targets anyone at the foot of the walls."

Toran tried not to sigh, the veteran Sergeant was a grizzled and experienced warrior who had led aspirants to war for longer than Toran had been alive. His wisdom was sound but Toran was quickly learning that he tended to treat everyone as an unblooded novice on their first deployment. To distract him Toran said, "This entire facility is poorly designed, I do not understand why they would build a base in such a manner."

Nimodes replied, "Because this is not a base, this a chalet, meant as a place for nobility to holiday."

Toran stared at him with blank incomprehension, as Nimodes explained, "The rich often pretend that their lives are too hard and that they deserve time away to recover."

Toran barely followed that reasoning, as a Space Marine his entire life was dedicated to war; every moment not spent fighting was busy with training and study or spent upon ritual and ceremony. Eventually he settled on saying, "I cannot imagine such laxity of spirit"

From further down the ridge Halis said "Don't be fooled, this place is just one more piece in the noble's games for power. You can guarantee they don't come here for fun but to plot and scheme for advantage."

Persion spat, "That sounds weak, no wonder this world fell into heresy."

"It works to our advantage though," commented Nimodes, "Observe; this lodge has only two access routes, a single roadway winding up the foothills for goods or servants and that landing pad, covered in noble's personal omnicopters."

"There is something else," interrupted Daite, "There is a void in the heart of the lodge, a place that should not be, a darkness that cannot be observed."

Toran gave him a worried look and said, "Brother… are you having one of your visions?"

Daite scowled as he held up his auspex in a clenched fist as he said, "I meant a sensor blind spot, something in there is actively blocking scans, some form of vault taking up a large section of the building."

"That definitely shouldn't be there," mused Nimodes.

"Certainly not," said Toran, "Someone has converted this place for another purpose."

"Should we call in the Battle Company now?" asked Daite.

"No," said Nimodes, "This is suspicious but not definite proof, we need to take a closer look to be certain this is what we seek."

Toran agreed with the other Sergeant and said, "The lodge has but two external generators to provide power, take them out and they lose all communications and power for the multi-lasers."

Nimodes remarked, "That would instantly alert all the guards and they would scramble to alert."

Toran replied, "Exactly what we want, Furion and Jediah will take out the generators and that will lure the guards out into the open while Nimodes, Persion and Halis establish a firebase overlooking the roadway, killing any guard who reveals himself. Bylan and Daite storm the landing pad, spike the engines of the Omnicopters and let none escape. While you all distract the guards Novak and I will infiltrate the lodge from the rear and penetrate the vault, we will find whatever is hidden there and kill anyone in our way."

"A fine plan," said Nimodes "With one slight change, I will accompany you."

Toran was about to protest but when he saw Nimodes' face he knew it was pointless, so he simply nodded then fixed his helm on before briskly setting off. With that the various parties set off towards their objectives, the initiates taking circuitous routes to avoid been seen. Toran's party was walking carefully around the lodge, keeping to the high ridges so to approach it from the steep slopes behind. As they walked Novak turned to Nimodes and casually said, "So Sergeant what will your official report of this campaign be?"

Nimodes adjusted his stalker-bolter as he replied, "This has been an unmitigated disaster, Jossat always was a glory hound but this is unacceptable."

Toran was surprised by the statement and said, "I know you have your differences but would you really enter such a blot onto his record?"

Nimodes snorted and said, "He is a great warrior, thrice the combatant you are, and proved a remarkable assault Sergeant but as a Captain he is reckless and sloppy. I thought time would blunt his ardour but as the decades passed he grows only more arrogant and ambitious. I blame those damned preachers and Emperor-worshippers, spending all their time spreading their misguided creed when they should be focusing on the proper execution of battle."

Toran was shocked to hear such blatant criticism thus he and Novak couldn't help glance at each other, Nimodes saw it and let out a short bark of a laugh saying, "Did you think that you and Phalros were the only ones trying to put a stop to all this nonsense?! There are more of us than you know. You may have the Chaplains fooled but you are not as subtle as you think. That encounter with Honourable Ajax almost gave you away, luckily I was able to run interference before rumours spread."

Toran wasn't quite certain that Nimodes wasn't trying to trick him into revealing more than he should so dissembled, "I am not sure I follow what you mean."

Nimodes grinned and said, "I see you don't trust me on this matter, which is perhaps the wisest thing I have seen you do since you set foot on this planet. I am not offended; when you are ready to trust me I will be waiting. For now let us concentrate on entering the lodge undetected."

With those words the group fell silent, as they tracked around the lodge, it was painstaking work, Nimodes' lighter armour let him skip over the dirty snow but the pair of power armoured brothers had to choose every step with care. After nearly an hour though they got behind the lodge and spied a servant's entrance which was neatly tucked away in the rear of the building. They settled down and waited for the signal to move out. Silently they lay there, watching the faint shadows lengthen as evening crept over the mountains. It was a tense time, watching the manse for any signs that the Astartes had been detected, that their cover had been blown. Toran fell back on his training, using the technique of tensing transhuman muscles one by one to keep their limbs fresh and sharpen their mental awareness.

Just before dusk fell everything changed. Without warning a flash erupted and the sharp noise of twin explosions rang out as the generators erupted in balls of fire. The lodge's lights flickered and died then there were the loud noises of many men shouting in panic and crashing about but Toran and the others did not move yet. They stayed still as crowds of men raced out of the building, running about in confusion and then there was the distant roar of bolters firing from the far side of the manse. As the guards raced to meet the attack to the front Toran rose from the ground shaking off black snow from his armour.

"That's the signal," yelled Toran as he ran towards the back of the building, "Follow me, we are going in!"


	14. 14

Carpe Posterum Chapter 14

The interior of the lodge was eerily quiet and deserted, luxurious Nalwood panels lined the walls interspersed with portraits of notable worthies from this world's history. The only light was that which trickled through the high arching windows of the gallery, between them were only pits of utter darkness like thick drapes laid across the space cutting it into distinct segments. Dashing between those pits were three Space Marines, Toran Novak and Nimodes, they moved swiftly covering each other and alert for threats. As they ran Toran could see glimpses of the outside world through the windows, the valley falling away before them and the mountains rising up like frozen waves on the sea. The view must have been magnificent once but now those waves were stained black with soot and the valley was filled with the flashes of weapons.

Toran raced past, completely uninterested in the view but he could not help but notice that the windows had not been rigged with trip mines after all. He resisted the unworthy impulse to point this out to Nimodes and focused instead on the interior of the lodge, seeking enemies but there were none. The lodge seemed deserted and all the guards appeared to have rushed outside to meet the obvious attack. Still they did not lower their guard for they had all been drilled over and over that to rely on your foe's incompetence was the surest route to death.

Silently the trio penetrated deeper and deeper into the building, meeting no one till at last they found something peculiar. It was a solid metal door in an otherwise blank and featureless corridor. At last they broke their silence and Nimodes whispered, "This is a starship airlock, it has no business being here."

Toran replied, "There is no other way through, we must risk it."

Nimodes nodded and keyed the mechanism, the thick door ground aside and the trio stepped inside. They stood there gripped with anticipation, the knowledge that one could not design a better ambush site. A cold sensation ran down Toran neck but he held true, whatever would happen h would deal with it, trusting in his weapons and armour to prove true. Yet when the interior door ground back there was no party of guards waiting to greet them and no blaze of heavy weapons so he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

The corridor beyond was a complete contrast to the other side, sterile and so well-lit that it was obvious that this place had its own internal generators. They proceeded cautiously up the long corridor with weapons held tightly in their grips. The corridor had many rooms adjoining it in endless rows, they appeared to be medicae suites and laboratories of some description but were as deserted as the rest of the facility. Eventually the corridor ended in a large open door leading into an echoing space, it was filled with utter darkness yet their enhanced hearing could detect the distinct noise of one person breathing.

With their reflexes on a razor's edge they entered and found the space to be a long hall, bereft of features save that one entire wall was taken up with a large vault door. Before they could take another step there was a burst of light and a single ray of illumination fell upon a seated figure against the far wall. Perched atop a row of enamelled stairs was an elaborate caricature of the true Golden Throne and sitting in it was the unmistakable sight of Governor Brendan. Mortals would have hesitated, mortals would have been frozen by shock and disbelief but not the Space Marines, they were already firing.

With lightning speed they let fly creating a spray of bolt shells, each and every projectile soared through the air on a perfect trajectory for Brendan's heart but before they could impact they struck a shimmering force field. The golden ripple effect cascaded around his form like a shimmering bubble as Brendan said merrily, "Welcome, welcome! I have been expecting you. The old God's angels come to pay homage to the new God."

Toran kept his bolt pistol aimed but lowered it a fraction to assess his target and realised the man failed to live up to the countless portraits and statues he had erected. No sculpted hero was this but a jowly and balding old wretch. His flesh was soft and flabby from too much comfortable living, with a weak chin and thinning hair. He was draped in robes in an effort to look regal but the overall effect was that he was drowning in his vestments. Yet in his eyes there was a fierce fire and gaze that was not focused entirely upon this world, making Toran realise the epithet 'Mad' was far more appropriate than anyone could have guessed.

Toran lowered his bolt pistol a hairsbreadth and said, "You are no god."

"What is a God?" replied Brendan with an evil grin, "If one has millions of followers bowing down to them, worshipping them and following their every word. If one has the power of life and death over another and can kill or raise them up with but a wave of his hand, how can he not be a god?"

Toran could see the epic vanity in Brendan's eyes the overwhelming self-belief and conviction consuming the man. No wonder he had not turned to the Ruinous Powers, he truly believed his own propaganda. Toran shifted his weight slightly and Novak and Nimodes spread out a little as he said, "The Emperor has more power than you could ever imagine, you are but a thief and leach."

Brendan grinned and a little drool ran out from his mouth as he giggled, "The Emperor, that rotting old corpse, he cannot even lift a finger whereas I am incarnate and vital. Unlike him I am honest, he was nothing but a liar, he saw the existence of Gods and tried to deny it."

Now it was Nimodes who spat, "The Emperor stood for a rational and moral human race, one whose belief was placed not in idols and false gods but in each other. He taught us that humanity was not meant to live on its knees, before some cruel and uncaring deity, but was meant to rise up and face the tyranny of false gods with courage and honour."

Brendan snorted, "Do not feed me those lies. I have quested behind the veil of the reality, I saw the faces of true gods, I know they are real and if they are real then I shall become one of them!"

Nimodes barked, "Then you asked the wrong question, you should not have asked if gods exist you should have asked if they were worthy of devotion. Faith should be the call to humility, to reflection and self-improvement; it should be the force that unites all men. When religion is used as club to crush men down, as a tool to set one man above the rest then it becomes a sham, a perversion of all that true faith stands for. A falsehood just like you."

Brendan jerked forwards in his throne and yelled at Nimodes, "You dare question my majesty?!"

While the trio had been keeping him busy talking they had been inching further apart and as Brendan leaned towards the scout-sergeant Toran acted. He drew a combat knife and in one smooth motion threw it underarm towards the Mad Governor on a perfect trajectory. The Space Marines had seen all types of energy fields in their lives and many of them shared the same fatal flaw of reacting only to velocity, they would stop bullets and las-blasts but allow slower object to pass through. It was this same principle that allowed torpedoes and bombers to pass through starship shields while lasers and plasma were stopped. Unfortunately this was not one of those types and as the knife struck the golden bubble the blade suddenly stopped, to be left hanging in mid-air like a nail in a wall.

Brendan pounded his fists on his throne as he roared with laughter and cried, "You see I am beyond your feeble efforts! Repent your hubris and bow down to me, perhaps I will be a merciful god!"

Toran snarled, "Never: we will never bow to you, it is you who will return what you stole from us!"

Brendan's smile widened and he said, "Ahhh, how little you see, did you not realise that I no longer have it."

At those words a loud clunk resonated through the hall and with ponderous weight the vault door swung open to reveal the space beyond, from it marched a dozen men whose outline made Toran gasp. They were each as tall and as broad as he was, towering and bulky in way no mortal ever could be. Corded with dense muscles and with the frame of Genhanced bones. They were Transhumans: twelve transhumans but not of the Emperor's design. Each of them was twisted and deformed, some had gigantically over-muscled limbs or hands that were masses of tentacles while others had protruding jaws or bulging red eyes filled with blood shot veins. One had large bony spikes emerging from his forearms like protruding daggers while another walked on multiple crab like legs in a jerky stuttering limp.

They were the nightmare of every aspirant made real, the secret fear every novice harboured that their implants would go wrong or their flesh would betray them. This was the unspoken fate of all those aspirants whose ascension was flawed or lacked the care and attention of skilled Apothecaries to correct their wandering genomes. Their armour was an equally bastardised mix of parts, ceramite plates stuck on awkwardly to metal frames that mocked the grace of proper fibre motive bundles yet were unmistakably Astartes in origin. Their colours were scratched and marked but under that they were recognisable as being of the Storm Heralds, the lost armour of Hevaste's squad.

Toran was left aghast at the blasphemy writ before his eyes as Brendan giggled, "Look upon my works and know I am indeed a god: behold as I bring forth life!"


	15. 15

Carpe Posterum Chapter 15

In the dark hall the two sides faced off, the noble trio facing their malformed and aberrant reflections. A single moment stretched out to eternity but then with a uniform snap the twisted mutants levelled their stolen bolters and took aim but the Storm Heralds were already in motion. Even as the first bolts let fly Toran and Novak were charging, presenting their thick pauldrons to the fore, using them as ablative shields against the incoming salvo. Nimodes in his lighter scout armour was forced to weave behind them, using them as mobile cover.

Toran felt a bolt round slam into his pauldron and the impact jarred him but he pushed through the pain and dived forwards as he drew his power sword. The malforms dropped their bolters as he closed and drew combat blades as they leapt to meet their blood-kin head on. The hall filled with violence as the two sides met, blows being traded faster than the eye could follow. Toran slashed at the first aberrant to approach him but it fell back and he was forced to pull his blow to parry a stab from another one of the mutants as they surrounded him with their superior numbers.

From the corner of his eye he saw Novak leap into the fray, his rapier a whirlwind of steel as he lunged and riposted with elegant flourishes. He was simultaneously duelling three of the malforms, holding off their blows and counter-attacking with a skill no mortal could ever achieve. Yet despite his expertise more and more of the aberrants were piling in and he was increasingly forced onto the defensive. Meanwhile Nimodes was relying on his superior agility to stay alive; his lighter armour unable to take the kind of blows his brothers were enduring. He ducked and weaved constantly as blows sought him out, lashing out in return but he could not land a telling strike against their mismatched and patchwork armour. Outnumbered four to one Novak and Nimodes were overmatched and instinctively slammed back to back for protection. With peerless coordination they fought off the attackers but they were fighting entirely defensively, it was only a matter of time before one of them made a fatal mistake.

Meanwhile Toran was facing off against four more mutants, one with tentacles for hands and another with splayed crab like legs. The next had one grotesquely over muscled arm in which it swung a massive axe while the last seemed normal save for bulging red eyes which were swollen out of their sockets. The mutated warriors were good, very good; whoever had trained them had instilled a deadly skill and speed that matched Toran's own. They had the advantage of numbers and knew exactly how to use it to keep Toran constantly off balance as they attacked from unexpected angles. He sought to strike back but every time he extended to land a killing blow another of them would sweep in and force him to pull back lest he be cut down.

He dodged a hacking blow from the axe wielder and kicked out to catch the crab legged malform from an unexpected direction. The impact sent it staggering back with its legs skittering under it, it crashed into a wall panel and tore it off to reveal a control panel before it righted itself and jumped back into the fray. Toran was beset on all sides now, taking countless blows that ripped into his armour as they sought to penetrate his vulnerable joints. He rode the wave of pain from the gouges and lucky strikes as he slashed back but he could just not land a death stroke.

Toran feinted a blow at the malform with bulging eyes but then diverted and his blade scored a vicious cut across the exposed wrist of the tentacle-handed aberrant. Blood spilled and tendons tore as Toran braced for the counter attack but almost lost his life when it failed to emerge. Instead the crab legged mutant cut in from the right and stabbed at his neck. Toran twisted away at the last second and prevented a killing blow but as he did so he saw the wounded aberrant falling back, holding its wrist in a tender grip.

In that moment the truth hit Toran: whoever had trained the aberrations had been good, perhaps the very best of mortals, but they had not been Space Marines. These horrors had not endured the most pitiless and savage training regime ever conceived, they had not suffered the agonising conditioning and trails of true aspirants. These deviants had not undertaken the sacred rites and tests of character that winnowed out all save those who thrived on conflict and war. For all the mutant's geneic resculpting, despite all the training, weapons and armour they had been gifted they were still mortal at heart. These foes were men not Astartes: they still Knew Fear.

Furiously Toran threw himself into the fight, lashing out in a frenzy of cuts and slashes but now he was not fighting to kill; now he was fighting to hurt. His blade nicked and scored at deviant flesh, spilling blood and ripping skin with every blow. In such proximity the aberrations were able to press in close, landing as many shallow cuts as he was himself inflicting. Yet what they had failed to grasp was the diamond hard will of a true Astartes, the ability to master outrage, fervour and anguish then channel it all into fuel for their zeal.

The fight was vicious and brutal yet the more wounds inflicted on Toran and the more pain he suffered the harder he fought, growing deadlier and more focussed with every passing second. The aberrations on the other hand were growing weaker and distracted, their pain slowing them down and their fear making them flinch away from the flashing power sword. Toran scythed at the deviant with red bulging eyes and it could not help but recoil, baulking in instinctive dread of the pain to come. Toran saw the opening and threw out his arm wide; the shining edge of the blade tore through the mismatched armour and ripped open the aberration's guts. A true Astartes would have accepted the agony and committed himself to one last strike in death, but the mutant merely fell to the ground, futilely trying to stuff its entrails back inside.

The other malforms thought they saw an opportunity and pounced to cut Toran down but the Sergeant was ready, as they leapt forwards he used his momentum to swing about and leapt to meet them. His sword thrust out as he vaulted forwards and the tip of the sword plunged into the chest of the crab legged mutant, tearing out its hearts. The aberrants were flabbergasted by this sudden reversal, seeing two of their kin cut down in moments and the shock caused them to freeze for a single heartbeat. Toran's reaction speed was so fast a vid-picter could not have captured it as his sword lanced through the throat of the axe-wielding mutant, skewering its neck and ripping out the other side leaving the deviant standing there like a hooked fish until the Sergeant pulled back his blade and the aberrant fell down stone dead. The horror overwhelmed the last malform and it backed away in fear, waving its tentacled hands before it in a desperate plea for mercy. Toran paced after it relentlessly, the very image of a pitiless destroyer. He became death incarnate as he raised his sword high then scythed it down like an executioner's axe, ending this travesty in a single stroke.

His attackers had fallen at last and Toran breathed in a single deep breath as he recovered but then turned to aid his beleaguered brothers. Novak and Nimodes were falling back before the remaining malforms but Toran ran to their aid launching a vicious attack from the rear. Though still having the advantage of numbers the deviants were now flanked on two sides and could not effectively defend themselves. Caught between three experienced Space Marines the aberrants stood no chance and in less than a minute they were all cut down. Novak claimed the last kill, his flashing rapier skewering a mutant through the eyesocket to end their threat once and for all.

The battle was over and the three Storm Heralds had won but there were other matters to attend to before they could declare victory. From behind his shimmering forcefield Brendan was quivering in rage, the act of being denied whatever he wanted never occurring to him before in his life. He turned purple as he screamed, "How dare you! Those were mine; I will kill you for this!"

Toran sheathed his sword as he looked at the pathetic man who thought himself a god, the force field was impenetrable yet there must be another way to deal with him. But as Toran pondered Nimodes had an idea and walked over to the control panel exposed in the fight, he reached within and began making adjustments.

"Fools!" cried Brendan from behind his shimmering force shield, "Do you think I did not take precautions, that I would not have a failsafe against my protection simply being shut off?!"

Nimodes was busy making an adjustment as he retorted, "Who said anything about shutting it off?"

As his hands moved the force shield grew more and more vibrant, darkening in tone as the field's power supply increased. Brendan looked panicked and tried to override with the controls in his own throne but he did not understand enough about his own protection to change anything. He staggered from his chair and tried to scream at the Astartes but his words were lost as the field darkened into a solid black pearl, cutting off all light and his air supply.

Torna looked upon a solid black pearl and remarked, "You made it airtight, he's trapped and his air supply is limited."

Novak looked at the new black wall before them and mused, "How much oxygen do you think he has in there?"

Nimodes rubbed his chin and said, "A man his size… less than fifteen minutes before he suffocates to death."

Novak was jubiliant at the fate of the heretic and smirked as he said, "So what do we do now?"

Toran looked at the corpses of the malformed tranhsumans and said, "We still have a mission to complete, we were sent to retrieve the lost relics and that is what we shall do."

Novak nodded and knelt to begin stripping the treasured armour components from the mutants however Nimodes said, "But what of the gene-seed, we have failed to recover the Chapter's future."

"Not necessarily," said Toran drawing his combat blade.

Nimodes looked shocked and said, "You cannot be serious! They are mutated and twisted, the Progenoids will be perverted."

"Perhaps," said Toran thoughtfully, "Or maybe this was the result of Brendan's incompetent sciences, his thug's lack of understanding of the mysteries wrought by the Emperor. If we return the Progenoids to the Apothecaries they may be able to undo his tampering."

Nimodes sighed, "Its worth a try, if they can recover a single gene-seed it will be a victory."

Then Toran knelt by the first malformed corpse and pushed the tip of his blade into the torso saying, "He that is dead… take from him the Chapter's Due."


	16. 16

Carpe Posterum Chapter 16

Jossat was not pleased, not in the least. The base of the Storm Heralds was abuzz with the news of Brendan's death, the rebellious governor had been slain and without him the heart had gone out of the uprising. Across the planet Heretics were throwing down their arms and surrendering, giving themselves over to Imperial mercy. If they thought the Imperium would be lenient they were delusional, the Inquisition would be exacting in its punishment of the population and countless examples would be made of those who had turned on Terra. Even without the reprisals life on Angle's Landing would be hard, the major cities were rubble and nuclear winter gripped the land. Famine and starvation would soon make the survivor's lives agonising and short.

Jossat cared for none of that though; the thing that was irritating him the most was that another had killed Brendan. Jossat had sworn to take his head but the governor had only gone and got himself killed by someone else. It was galling, Jossat's revenge had been stolen from him, his triumph taken by a lesser warrior. On a personal level it was degrading but Jossat wouldn't have begrudged a Brother for landing the final blow, he wasn't that petty. Yet the hard part was that the one in question was a Sergeant of Phalros' Company, a dull plodding trenchslogger. Jossat's drive to teach the Storm Heralds true glory was in tatters, his triumph stolen out from under him and his position in ruins. It was the worst form of insult.

Jossat was striding through the camp, glaring at everybody he passed. Most of his Company knew him well enough to let him pass without comment, his fiery temper was legendary in the Fourth. The same anger that drove Jossat to glorious victory could on occasions break out in unexpected directions and many had felt the lash of his tongue. So the squads passed by, eyes locked straight ahead, yet there was one who did not know better.

Sergeant Molin of Seventh Company stepped into his path and called, "Hail Brother-Captain!"

Jossat ground to a halt and snapped, "What?!"

Molin paused at the rebuke but still uttered, "I hear congratulations are in order."

"For what?" Jossat growled.

"For concluding this campaign victoriously," Molin replied calmly.

"It was not by my hand," Jossat corrected.

"But still you are Commander of this expedition," Molin urged, "Its success is your success. It reflects well on your leadership that you trusted a lesser Brother to land the telling blow."

"I…" Jossat mused, "I hadn't thought of it that way, but still I wanted Brendan's head myself. This Toran stole my glory."

"Sergeant Toran," Molin mused, "So it was he. I wouldn't have thought he was capable of it."

"You've met him?" Jossat asked in surprise.

Molin nodded, "Of course, he's the one who took out the Baneblade before the Palace gates."

That reminder drove a stake into Jossat's heart. Of course he knew who had done the deed but hadn't thought it of any consequence. Now the combination of the Baneblade and the Governor would propel his name into the consideration of the Masters. Toran had stolen every scrap of glory on this expedition and to make it worse he was Phalros' man, doubtless believing as he did in pedantic cooperation and kowtowing to Imperial dignitaries. It was intolerable.

Molin continued speaking, "The Adeptus Mechanicus has claimed the Baneblade for consecration and the Imperial Guard is setting up prisoner camps but the Ecclesiarchy has demanded our immediate departure."

"They what?!" Jossat snapped.

"They worry we will try to convert the population to our creed, as is our custom," Molin chided, "They want us away before they send in their own priests. What shall be our response?"

Jossat however said, "It can wait, I have more important matters to deal with."

"What could be more important than," Molin started but then said, "Oh, never mind. I see."

Marching through the camp came the lumbering forms of the Dreadnoughts, three of them all heading towards the waiting transports. Venerable Temeraire, Bellerophon the Slayer of Despots and Honourable Ajax. Jossat smiled as he saw opportunity unfold, the Dreadnoughts were the oldest and most lauded of heroes in the Chapter. If he could convince them to endorse his leadership he may yet come out of this campaign with a shred of glory.

Hastily Jossat stepped into their path and called, "Revered Brothers, I am glad to see…"

Ajax lumbered to a halt and growled, "GET OUT OF THE WAY."

Jossat blinked in surprise and replied, "I only wished to consult with you on the strategic situation. This campaign…"

"HAS BEEN A FARCE," Ajax snapped, "YOU HAVE BUNGLED EVERY MOVE SINCE THE START."

"But…" Jossat protested.

"I DID NOT GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK!" Ajax boomed, "YOU ARE ARROGANT AND GLORY-HUNGRY, YOU SPENT THE LIVES OF OUR BROTHERS FOR YOUR OWN SELF-AGGRANISEMENT. YOU ARE THE MEANEST AND MOST PETTY EXCUSE FOR A CAPTAIN I HAVE EVER SEEN, AND I HAVE LIVED FIVE MILLENNIA!"

"Now see here!" Jossat barked, his face going red from outrage.

Yet Temeraire spoke, "In my day a Captain who failed as completely as you would have undertaken Penitent Crusade to excise his shame."

Jossat wasn't about to be spoken to like this and snarled, "I drove the campaign with fury and zeal, hard and fast as war should be conducted. The enemy was cunning and sly but he lies dead, because of my will to succeed!"

But Bellerophon countered, "You were sloppy and rash, you charged in first without looking, ignoring every tenant of the Codex."

Jossat was livid now and snapped, "We cannot be limited in our thinking. High Chaplain Samect calls for zeal in the ranks, courage and ferocity can win more wars than plodding foot-dragging!"

But Ajax growled, "IF THIS SAMECT IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CHAPTER'S DIRECTION THEN HE IS IN STERN NEED OF CORRECTION. I HAVE SEEN THE DETERIORATION IN OUR SPIRIT, THE DULLING OF OUR SKILLS AND THE EMPEROR-WORSHIP. IT IS INTOLERABLE, I WILL NOT ABIDE IT."

Jossat protested, "You can't mean to…"

"THIS CHAPTER NEEDS TO BUCK UP ITS IDEAS," Ajax intoned, "IF THE MASTERS' DON'T FIX THIS MESS THEN I WILL RIP THEM IN HALF AND FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN. NOW GET OUT OF MY WAY BEFORE I STEP ON YOU."

Jossat stepped aside as the Dreadnoughts stomped off, his face burning with shame. He had just been chastised by the oldest Brothers in the Chapter and he knew word of this encounter would soon be all over the camp. His humiliation was complete and his pride could sink no lower. This campaign had been stolen out from under him, by Nimodes, Phalros, Toran and now Ajax. He had been undermined from the start and all had turned on him. High Chaplain Samect would not be pleased.

Filled with bitter anger Jossat turned to Molin and hissed, "Tell the squads to disperse and begin elucidation of the masses. I want this whole planet converted to our creed before we depart."

"But the Ecclesiarchy…" Molin pointed out.

"Damn them to hell," Jossat snarled, "I am not leaving this planet without some small success, everything else has fallen apart but I will have this. Now snap to it!"


	17. 17

Carpe Posterum Chapter 17

On the cold and dim world of Angle's Landing peace had fallen but the violence was far from over. The long road to recovery now began and the Imperium commenced rounding up the rebels and punishing them for their sedition. Barbed-wire camps sprang up across the continents, corralling thousands of blank-eyed refugees, fearful of retribution of which there was plenty. Firing squads were set up hourly and gallow grew heavy with hung bodies, the smallest hint of collaboration with the Heretics enough to sentence a man to death, the corpses left as warnings to those fortunate enough not to be executed. This was typical Imperial behaviour on recently liberated worlds yet what was making it worse was the presence of the Space Marines.

Normally after declaring victory most Astartes would have departed for fresh wars but the Storm Heralds had not, instead they were undertaking pilgrimages across the planet. They visited every remaining town, village and hamlet preaching of the divinity of the God-Emperor. They travelled in ones and twos telling the people that they had strayed into darkness and forfeited the light of the Emperor. Great was the lamentation and the gnashing of teeth at their words but that did not appease them, for the Astartes proclaimed that only by casting out the most wicked and corrupt amongst them could they purify their sin. Terrified of the wrath of the Emperor's angels the populace turned on itself, neighbours denouncing each other for the slightest transgressions and imagined grudges.

Fanatical mobs swept the streets, finding men who were not loud enough in their praise of the Emperor and clubbing them to death or dragging young women away to be stoned for wantonness. When they ran out of isolated victims the mobs began setting upon whole families, kicking down doors and dragging everybody away to be burned at the stake. Always the Space Marines were standing nearby, judging and proclaiming doom upon any they found to be lacking in fervour.

IXth squad however had not been involved; they had been busy securing the site of the late governor's death and retrieving the Chapter's lost relics. It turned out Brendan had been quite the aficionado of Space Marine gear and they had recovered a trove of artefacts from a variety of Chapters, including the Black Templars, the Smoke Jaguars and the Steel Confessors. Collecting it all had taken days and upon their return they had been feted with glory from their brothers still guarding the base. Hailed as heroes, quite an unaccustomed experience for members of a reserve company and they weren't sure how to carry themselves.

They now stood on the perimeter of the forward base looking out through the razorwire upon the actions of their brothers. As they watched they saw one marine supervising a mob of fanatics who were dragging some young man into a square, yet he was indistinguishable from his persecutors in every way. The mob threw him up against a wall then fell back as women and small children began flinging rocks at him. IXth squad watched his feeble efforts to avoid being hit; refusing to hide their faces even though they felt nothing but shame.

As the man finally went still and bonelessly limp they turned about and marched away leaving the mob behind as Furion muttered, "This is an utter disgrace."

"+What else could we have done?+" asked Bylan who had only recently been inducted into the squad's opposition to such actions.

"We could have done something," snarled Furion.

Toran overrode him saying, "We are doing something, but we must be circumspect and cunning. If we act rashly it could spark a civil war, none of us want to become kinslayers."

"+We are few and they are many+" said Bylan, "+How can we change anything?+"

Toran replied, "The path to victory is never clear but one must walk it nonetheless. Trust in Captain Phalros he will see us through."

"Well he better hurry up," said Persion glancing over his shoulder.

Toran paused in his stride to look at Persion as he continued, "I have been listening in to some unsecured reports: this campaign has provoked a response from Imperial authorities. The Ecclesiarchy in particular are apocalyptic, they do not like anyone poaching upon their spiritual territory. The cardinals have openly condemned us and sent missives to Terra seeking to have us declared renegades and sentenced to a penitent crusade."

"That is only one step down from being declared Excommunicate Traitoris," gasped Daite.

"Yes and that is far from the worst of it," replied Persion, "Rumour abound that the High Lords have petitioned the Lord Macragge himself on the matter of the proselytising."

That drew the attention of everybody and Daite asked, "What was his response?"

"Marneus Calgar sent back five words," said Persion grimly, "Incompatible with the Codex Astartes."

Everybody sucked in sharp breath at the pronouncement of doom, for a Chapter who claimed to be Codex compliant there could not possibly be any stricter judgement. It was more than a condemnation; from the spiritual liege of all Ultramarine Successors it was effectively saying that they were no sons of Guilliman. There could be no sterner rebuke.

Toran shook his head and said, "We best hurry up, Captain Phalros is waiting." They marched briskly through the camp and soon approached Phalros' billet, they were ushered inside by his equerry and found the Captain sitting behind his desk, conversing with Sergeant Nimodes. The space seemed very cramped with ten Space Marines inside but there was nowhere else secure enough to risk talking. Phalros greeted the squad with his most senatorial gaze as he said, "You may stand at ease, Nimodes I and were just discussing recent affairs. I had no idea there were so many Sergeants in Tenth Company who felt as we do."

Nimodes mused, "Strange that we should have independently arrived at the same conclusions and I for one never suspected Chapter Master Gorgall was also on our side. Imagine what we could do now we are all working together."

Toran looked his Captain and asked, "We are glad to have fresh allies in our struggle for rationality in the Chapter but was there some pressing reason you needed to see us?"

Phalros didn't seem disgruntled by the unsubtle prompt but instead said, "Recent events have overtaken us, the campaign here has brought things to a head and we must act. Our subtle efforts are no longer sufficient, it is time to start making some headway and that begins by putting our people in the right places. We need more friends in the highest ranks of the Chapter."

Toran frowned and said, "I do not follow you."

Nimodes grinned as he snorted, "For all those brains he's not too quick on the uptake. We are taking about you."

"Me?" squawked Toran in surprise.

"Yes," replied Phalros calmly, "Word has reached the Masters that single-handed you eliminated the heretic governor and reclaimed the Chapter's past and its future."

Behind the Sergeant Novak quietly muttered, "I was there too," but Phalros pointedly ignored him.

He carried on to say, "This is yet one more victory you have claimed whose repercussions echo far beyond your squad and company. The Baneblade and the Governor are but two more marks of note in a record that began on your first mission: slaying a Defiler, forging alliances with the Mechanicus, facing the Dusk Prince twice and living to tell of it and now this. It is undeniable your achievements have affected the entire Chapter. The Masters agree wholeheartedly and they have sent an astropathic communiqué proclaiming that you are to be rewarded."

Phalros and Nimodes stood up and the Captain extended his hand as he said, "Congratulations, by direct order from the council of Masters you are hereby promoted to the First Company."

Toran jaw fell and his thoughts stop as he automatically shook the hand. IXth squad gasped in shock; the First Company was the home of the Chapter's finest warriors and greatest heroes. It was more than a promotion; it was a chance for Toran to write his name in the Chapter's histories. The very greatest and most lauded victories of the Chapter had been won by the heroes of First Company and some of those marines still had their names read out on holy days millennia after they were dead. To be elevated so should be the highest honour for any battle brother yet the achievement was tarnished by the knowledge that this was more a political appointment than pure merit. There was also a quiet voice whispering in the back of Toran's mind that he would no longer be a Sergeant, no longer leader of a squad but a subordinate once more.

He dismissed the unworthy thought and said, "I thanks you Captain, I shall bring honour to the Storm Heralds."

"See that you do," replied Phalros, "And take care to watch your tongue, we do not know if we have any friends in First Company."

Toran nodded but then a thought crossed his mind and he said, "May I ask, who will take over as Sergeant for IXth squad?"

Phalros replied frankly, "There are several promising names but we wondered if you had any recommendations?"

Toran didn't even have to hesitate as he proclaimed, "Brother Furion would make an exemplary Sergeant."

Phalros looked surprised but after a moment nodded and concurred, "It is certainly merited; very well Sergeant Furion will command IXth squad from now on."

The squad was silently buoyed by the fact that they would continue to be led by someone they knew and then Nimodes clapped slowly and said, "Well aren't you lot going to congratulate your brother?"

With those words the squad broke ranks and gathered around the newly promoted Marine, slapping his pauldrons and offering hearty praise. One by one they spoke to him and gave him their words for the future, Bylan was the first to say "+It has been an honour to serve under you+"

Toran responded, "And with you, keep to your purpose and you will become a great warrior."

Daite was the next, clapping a pauldron with one metal hand as he said, "Greatness awaits you."

Toran jested, "Is that a vision?"

Daite grinned and replied, "Merely an expectation."

Jediah followed him saying, "The fight will not be the same without you."

"Nor without you," said Toran surprised by the emotional remark from his normally staid brother.

Novak pushed him aside and said, "Try to leave some glory for the rest of us."

Toran laughed and "With you in the field it will be us struggling to keep up."

Halis Paur waited for Toran to move on then said with typical bitter cynicism said, "Watch your back among those glory hounds and be careful who you trust."

Toran nodded entirely used to his brother's sour attitude and said, "I will remember that."

Persion stepped up and much more warmly said, "This is a great achievement, just don't let it go to your head."

Toran smiled and said, "I will always have the memory of you to keep me humble."

Last of all was Furion who gripped one arm wrist to wrist in a warrior's grip saying "I have watched you grow these last decades into a fine leader and glory awaits but always remember your roots... and your friends."

"Do not worry, this is not the end for us it is only a beginning," replied Toran, "I remain confident that one day we shall fight together once more."

And with that fond farewell Toran began a new page in his lifestory, one filled with dangers and glories he could never have imagined.


	18. 18

Somewhere, Somewhen

*Presenting a teaser for Noctem Oritur*

The planet had no name and even if it did to speak it would drive a man mad, for this world had known the touch of the warp and had long since been reduced to a blasted wasteland. On a nameless plain of fused glass shards stood two beings of immense stature. One carried a staff crested with a three headed serpent and had a helm with four horns rising from it. The other was even taller and was clad in armour decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' shapes. He bore a massive double headed axe and was kneading the haft with his gauntlets.

They stood still as statues under the burning sun, waiting amid the blazing heat haze for the arrival of another party. As they waited the giant impatiently turned to the other and said, "Beta how long are we going to stand here?"

Beta replied, "Patience Gamma, they think to prove their superiority by making us wait. Don't be irritated or you hand them the advantage."

Resentfully Gamma muttered, "We already have several warbands under our flag why do we need more?"

Beta sighed in exasperation as he explained, "We are not talking about raiding some dreary backwater but destroying an entire lapdog Chapter. We will need more troops than we already have."

Gamma sniffed, "We already have thousands of cultists."

Beta actually laughed at that, "They are but the scum and dregs! Good for soaking up bolt rounds but not much else, I was talking about real troops, Astartes not chaff. Vorshaan has his new prize but has not enough boots on the ground to complete the job. This warband is the largest of all those we have approached, we need their numbers if nothing else."

Gamma growled, "Vorshaan is a strutting peacock. I could carve out his hearts and pin him up by those absurd wings like an insect. Then we take command of his army."

"Now, now Gamma that is no way to talk about our illustrious leader," said Beta as he finally spied movement on the horizon, "Not until we have what we want anyway."

As stood talking a line of armoured silhouettes slowly came into view, growing clearer and more defined as they approached through the shimmering heat haze. As they closed the lurid colours and debauched images painted on their armour became clear, many of them having removed their helms to reveal ritual scarification and self-inflicted wounds. They all had spikes and claws adorning their armour and had stretched human skin over those spikes, some still with faces visible. On and on they came in perfect lines, until over fifty Chaos marines closed upon the pair.

At their head marched a purple clad Marine with a Charnabal sabre in one hand. His armour was curiously slim, almost effeminate by the brutal standards of Space Marines. Spike adorned the plates and grotesque imagery covered every inch of it. He had peeled back the skin on the top of his head, holding it back with nails to reveal the bone of his skull but his face was perfect, a human countenance of surpassing beauty. The leader grinned to show pearl teeth as he called out, "Beta! I thought that signal bore your slimy marks. Don't tell me that you are still slumming it with the Night Lords?!"

Beta bowed in welcome and said, "Greetings noble Jubila, scourge of Parathion, violator of Daska and defiler of the temples of Foreth. A thousand worlds weep at the mention of your very name."

Jubila did not seem impressed by the recitation of his titles as he said, "Beta as much as I enjoy flattery I didn't come all this way for a chat. Your message promised a chance for glory and spoils, but was lacking in specifics."

Beta stood straight and addressed him directly, "Very well right to business. We have called you here to announce Lord Vorshaan plans to destroy the lapdog Storm Heralds in their own home. You owe him a debt and he calls upon you to bring your forces to fight under his banner."

"Vorshaan, that dullard?!" scoffed Jubila and his warband laughed with him, "I know all about the Dusk Prince and his monumental follies. He grubs in the dirt while I dance among the stars! Tell him that I will not give him a single bolt round."

Gamma started forwards at that and snarled, "You owe him a debt!"

Jubila laughed merrily, "Everyone knows what debts and oaths are worth in the Warp, he has no hold on the scions of Fulgrim. I will confess it has been most amusing watching Vorshaan toiling on his monument to a lost age, but we will never serve under someone who wastes ten thousand years toiling over an unrepairable relic."

Beta however was not laughing; instead he said flatly, "He has finished it."

That shut Jubila up and wiped the grin off his face, he sounded shocked as he said, "He's done what?"

Beta repeated, "Vorshaan's great creation, after ten thousand years of labour it is finally complete and ready to wage war. The planetary defences will be no match for the power Vorshaan now commands, all he lacks is enough ground troops to conquer the Fortress-Monastery."

Silence greeted those words as the implications set in, the Chaos Marines glancing at each other and their leader. Jubila stood lost deep in thought then finally queried, "I presume others have already signed up."

Beta nodded and said, "Thessus and his butcher horde, Killorn and his pestilent host and the Magi of Yuikai have already pledged their forces."

Jubila seemed to be seriously considering this and he said, "Even with Vorshaan's own household that only brings us to three hundred or so, not enough to take out a whole Chapter."

Beta noted the way Jubila had included himself in the tally and replied, "Worry not, we have a source who tells us the Storm Heralds will soon be quite busy. They will be forced to overdeploy and when they do we shall strike. With their Fortress-monastery destroyed they will wither on the vine and fall into extinction."

Now Jubila seemed doubtful and said, "A source… you would trust the words of a Daemon?"

Beta shook his head and his horns carved the air apart as he replied, "No not a Daemon, something much more reliable."

"And what of the Black Legion?" asked Jubila suspiciously, "The Warmaster will note such an endeavour and will expect his tribute."

Beta stated, "Abaddon sends his regards and promises that should the mission succeed the Champions will be allowed to pledge themselves to the Legion. They will have positions of power in his next Black Crusade, relative to how much tribute they lay at his feet."

Jubila snorted saying, "In other words the Despoiler commits no troops but still expects a share of the spoils."

Beta cocked his head to one side and said, "Did you expect anything else from Abaddon?"

Jubila grinned as he retorted, "Not really… anyway we may see a way to signing up for this little venture but first you must prove your worthiness to us."

Beta said cautiously, "What did you have in mind?"

Jubila waved one of this followers forward, who had a thin blade growing out of one fist and a long sinuous whip fused into the other. The leader of the Warband declared, "It is has been a slow morning, why not Trial of Champions?"

"The traditional fashion," replied Beta has he stepped back, "Somewhat predictable, that's not like you."

Jubile grinned from ear to ear as he quipped, "There's a reason it's a classic."

Gamma stomped forwards until he and the other challenger were ten paces apart. The two champions sized each other up, Gamma was larger and heavier while the opponent was slimmer but more agile, it was obvious that this would be a trial of speed verses strength. They stood staring each other out, Jubila's champion curling his whip sinuously around his legs as Gamma kneaded at the haft of his axe.

Jubila took the sacred judge's place, off to one side and announced, "By the Code of the Duello this bout is to the death, no blows or weapons disallowed. The duel will commence when I count to three. Ready: One…"

As soon as the word left Jubila's lips his champion acted, flicking his whip forwards to ensnare Gamma's neck. Yet the brutish warrior was not surprised by the obvious cheating, as the coil snaked forwards he released one hand from his axe and caught it by the tip. The Challenger grinned, exhilarated by the prospect of the fight to come but he was not expecting what came next. With one mighty heave Gamma wrenched the whip towards him, pulling his opponent forwards and as he did so smashed his mighty axe into the breastplate. The weighty weapon had his full strength behind it and it shattered through the challenger's chest, carving apart ribs and organs until it protruded out of his backpack like a fin. Gamma watched the life drain from his opponent's eyes then shook him off the axeblade and dropped the corpse to the ground.

Jubila was laughing hysterically as he cried, "I love it, I love it, I love it! No foreplay at all, just right to the climax! A superb display, you should dump this XXth Legion snake and come fight for me, the rewards will be better."

Gamma however didn't say anything so it was Beta who stepped forwards and said, "I trust this means you are committed to Vorshaan's plan?"

Jubila wiped tears of mirth from his eyes as he said, "Yes, yes, we will come but tell him I expect my share of the spoils."

Beta bowed and said, "Rest assured once we win there will be more plunder and slaves than even you know what to do with. Wait for our call and when the time is right the Storm Heralds shall be annihilated."


End file.
